


On the Strength of Promises and Hope

by DKNC



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-07
Updated: 2013-11-07
Packaged: 2017-12-31 18:48:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 96,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1035155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DKNC/pseuds/DKNC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Promise Me, Ned."  Robert's Rebellion is over and won, and Ned Stark finds himself at the Tower of Joy with his dying sister's words ringing in his head. He makes the promise and takes the newborn babe, but he makes one other decision in this universe which starts to unravel his careful plan from the very beginning--endangering not only the baby boy, but Ned, his new wife, his own infant son, and all he holds dear; pitting him against the man he has called brother; and creating potential chaos in Robert Baratheon's new reign just as it is beginning.</p><p>A pre-canon AU plot set in an otherwise book compliant Westeros spanning the years from the end of Robert's Rebellion to the end of the Greyjoy Rebellion.<br/>Written for the ASoIaF BigBang on tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Eddard

He should have killed Arthur Dayne.

As he dragged his bruised body across the rancid straw on the floor of his cell, feeling his way along the wall in the dark with one hand while the fingers of his other swept about searching for the jug of water the guard had thrown at him, Ned Stark cursed whatever impulse had caused him to spare the Dornish knight.

_He is a man of honor. He has fought valiantly. He is doing his duty. He is defeated and his death is unnecessary. He is Ashara’s brother._

All of those thoughts and others, more difficult to sort out, had flashed through his mind when he’d shouted at Howland before sprinting up the stairs to reach his sister, “Do not kill him!”

Dayne certainly would have killed Ned had Howland not been there to lunge at him from the side just as that beautiful white greatsword of his slashed downward in what would surely have been a fatal blow. Reed was hardly an accomplished swordsman, and his stroke did Dayne little damage, but it knocked him off balance just enough to make him miss, and that had given Ned the precious seconds he needed to regain his feet and bring Ice down forcefully upon the man’s wrists, twisting it just the right way to cause Dawn to fly from his grasp.

Disarmed, the man had dropped to his knees, battered and bloody as Ned was himself, and braced himself for the blow that would end his life. Only Ned didn’t deliver that blow. Lyanna’s voice had come again to him from above, hoarsely shouting his name. _His sister._ And he’d looked into this man’s eyes and seen Ashara’s. _Her brother._

Suddenly overwhelmed by the feeling that far too many good people had already died for whatever folly had brought them to this place, he had moved to pull Dayne’s hands behind him, and Howland, seeming as he so often did to read Ned’s mind, had taken a rope to bind them. Then Ned had cast Ice aside and seen the black sword land in the Dornish sand beside the white one, both of them stained with the blood of brave and honorable men. He’d shouted those words at Howland and gone to find his sister in the final moments of her life.

He found the water jug. The cork had come out when it struck the wall and more than half the water had been spilled upon the straw, but he greedily drank the little that remained before leaning back to rest against the wall. He didn’t know how long he’d been here. The dark was absolute so no amount of time allowed his eyes to adjust enough to see anything. He knew he slept a lot, and he dreamed fitful, confused, and often frightening dreams in which the faces of the dead --his sister, brother, father, Rhaegar Targaryen, Princess Elia and children, mad King Aerys--mixed with the faces of the living--Robert, Howland, Ashara, Ned’s wife Catelyn, the son he’d never seen, the nephew he’d hoped to keep safe, and damned Arthur Dayne. All of them seemed to want something of him, but he could never quite make sense of it. _They are only dreams,_ he told himself angrily.

He wondered if Howland had gotten the boy away safely at least. Robert had not come to see him, and Ned could not help but think that the man who had been his brother, in some ways more of a brother than Brandon or Benjen, would tell him at least, if Lya’s child were dead.

He’d had the boy in his arms when he last spoke to Arthur Dayne. Howland had finally pulled him away from his sister’s dead body, and he’d felt both the weight of the child and of the promise he’d made as he descended the stairs and emerged once more into the sunlight. Dazed by grief and exhausted from battle he’d stood there blinking until the bound man spoke.

“That’s the rightful king you hold there, Lord Stark.”

Slowly, Ned had looked toward Arthur Dayne and shook his head. “No,” he said softly. “Robert Baratheon is the King of the Seven Kingdoms.” He’d gazed down then at the dark haired infant. “This is Jon. My son.”

“Your . . .what?” the other man had exploded. “That child is . . .”

“My son!” Ned interrupted, saying it far more loudly, as if shouting could somehow make the lie truth. “He is my natural son, conceived and born during this long campaign, and I shall take responsibility for him.”

Arthur Dayne had laughed bitterly then. “You would make the heir to the Iron Throne a bastard. He is trueborn, you know. Rhaegar wed your sister, took her as a second wife. I can testify to the truth of that, Lord Stark.”

“I do not doubt your truthfulness, Ser Arthur.”

The man had looked confused then. “But then . . .why? Why would you make him a bastard?”

“I would have him live. I promised my sister her son would be safe, and I will keep that promise.”

Arthur Dayne had shaken his head then. “Your friend Robert has no right to the throne. You know that.”

“I know that he has the throne. And I know he will be a far better king than that madman and murderer, Aerys.”

“Prince Rhaegar . . .”

“Do not speak to me of Rhaegar!” Ned had shouted. “Whatever he and Lyanna have done, I lay at his feet. She was scarcely more than a child herself, and he was the crown prince! We have all been forced to this place by his reckless actions.”

Ser Arthur’s silence after that had led Ned to believe the man harbored his own doubts about the wisdom of his Prince’s actions regarding Lyanna. After a long moment, Arthur had asked, “What do you mean to do with me?”

“Nothing.”

“You cannot possibly let me go,” he said.

“I can,” Ned said tiredly. “Leave Westeros, Ser Arthur. Take a ship and go somewhere in Essos or anyplace far away. There is nothing for you here, but you needn’t forfeit your life. Make a life elsewhere. I am tired of needless deaths.”

“You would have me flee?” the man had sounded insulted.

“You did not flee,” Ned had told him truthfully enough. “You fought until the end for your prince and his heir. I defeated you.”

Understanding began to dawn on Arthur Dayne’s face. “You will claim I am dead.”

“You will be dead to all here. If you refuse to go now, I will kill you. I have no wish to take your life, but I would rather give you a clean death here than drag you to King’s Landing for the spectacle of a public trial. Give me your word you will leave Westeros and not return, though, and I will unbind you and send you on your way.”

The man had nodded slowly, thinking. “My sword,” he’d said after a moment.

Ned had hesitated. “I will take it to Starfall,” he’d finally answered. “Lady Ashara will hear of your death from me. I owe her that.”

“My death . . .”

“It must be so,” Ned had told him. “You will be lost to her in any event, and I would not make her party to my deceit.”

Arthur Dayne had remained silent a long time, head bowed in thought. Finally he’d looked up at Ned and nodded grimly. “Unbind me, Lord Stark, and I shall go.”

Only much later, had Ned realized that the man had given his word to absolutely nothing.

Now, in his cell beneath the Red Keep, Ned wondered where Dayne was. He had not seen the man again after that conversation although he at least knew where the damned man had gone initially. He wondered if Dayne had been arrested, too, or if he was still free, attempting to proceed with his foolish plan.

Ned prayed once more that Howland and the boy were safely on their way to the Neck. He prayed that his raven had reached Riverrun, and that old Hoster Tully had heeded his instructions to remove Lady Catelyn and his son to Winterfell. They could be far better protected there, if need be.

The thought of his wife always made him feel slightly off-balance for he had known her a mere fortnight and had not seen her in close to a year. He was unsure what he was supposed to feel about her. He remembered her face well enough, and that impossibly thick mass of auburn hair tumbling down over her shoulders. She was undoubtedly beautiful, and more than once while sleeping on a cot or the cold ground during this long war, he’d felt himself harden with desire at the memory of her pale skin brushing against his and the curves of her body pressed beneath him. Yet, at other times it was the image of black hair and laughing violet eyes and the taste of Ashara’s tongue hot and urgent against his own that caused that stirring of arousal, and the memory of his body’s response to that final kiss they’d shared shamed him.

He felt ashamed and angry at himself now, as he felt his cock twitch within his torn breeches even in this dismal place as he thought about Catelyn and Ashara. Surely, he had more pressing problems at the moment. Robert’s voice came back to him then, full of teasing laughter. “A cock has a mind of its own, Ned. You’d be a hell of a lot less dour if you’d let yours think and do as it likes for a change!”

He didn’t want to think about Robert, though. He did not like to dwell on the fact that he’d been thrown into a black cell beneath the Red Keep on the order of his best friend. Instead, he thought about his brief visit to Starfall, when he’d given Ashara her brother’s sword, and she’d seen through his lies but he hadn’t seen through hers.

“That is not your child.”

Her voice was firm, almost cold when she’d said it. He’d expected tears or at least some outward expression of the grief she must be feeling at his news. Yet, she’d simply taken Dawn from him, laid it aside, and thanked him for coming to tell her himself. She always had seemed strong, though, and for all people told him that he was difficult to read, he’d ever found her true thoughts and feelings impossible to guess.

“He is mine, my lady,” he’d assured her.

“You are a dreadful liar, Eddard Stark. That’s Lyanna’s babe, isn’t it?”

At the time, he’d only thought her very perceptive. The gods knew she’d seemed able to read his mind at Harrenhal well enough. “He cannot be so and live,” he’d said softly.

“Ned,” she’d said then, using his familiar name for the first time since he arrived, “You are a good man. Too good. But if you cannot lie to me for even five minutes, how do plan to carry this lie through the boy’s entire life?”

“You . . .know me, my lady. Others will not . . .”

She laughed then, and it surprised him that she could, as he had just informed her of her brother’s death. “I wanted to know you better, as I recall.” She pouted a little. “You turned me down.”

“I would not dishonor you, my lady,” he’d replied stiffly.

“Oh, Ned,” she’d sighed, shaking her head. “Honor would force you to walk away from a woman fully willing to bed you, but it will not prevent you from bringing home a bastard for your lady wife to raise?” She raised an eyebrow at him. “I don’t know your Lady Catelyn, my lord, but the Tullys are a proud lot, by reputation. Family, Duty, Honor, and all that. I don’t think she’ll take kindly to a bastard in Winterfell.”

“I . . .I have no choice.”

“Of course, you do. Leave him with me. Let him be my bastard. He’s obviously a Stark and enough people know that I bedded your brother . . .”

The expression on his face had apparently made it plain to her that he had known nothing of the sort.

“Oh, Ned!” she’d exclaimed, seeming genuinely distressed. “I thought you knew! It was after we . . .well, after we didn’t do anything at all, really. You’d made it clear you didn’t want me.”

“Not wanting you had nothing to do with it,” he’d told her, and she’d looked sad. “I would not have you dishonor yourself falsely by claiming a bastard child now, Ashara. And Jon is too young to have been conceived at Harrenhal in any event.”

“Jon?”

“That is what I have named him.”

She had looked thoughtfully at the babe. “I was in King’s Landing when Brandon arrived. Who’s to say he did not come to me again before he called for Rhaegar to come out and die?”

Ned had shaken his head stubbornly. “The boy must stay with me. I promised Lyanna I would keep him safe.”

“And your bloody Robert would kill him!” Ashara had spat at him angrily. “Just like he killed Elia and her poor babes!”

“Tywin Lannister ordered those deaths, not Robert.”

“Did our good King Robert condemn them? Did he put the murderers to the sword?” she had asked mockingly.

“You know he didn’t,” Ned had admitted.

“And that’s why you do what you do now,” she’d said. “You make your sister’s trueborn babe a bastard, you dishonor your sweet little Tully bride, and you condemn yourself to a cold marriage bed and a life of lies! All because of Robert!”

“Because of Rhaegar!” Ned had insisted. “He did this. If he had left Lyanna alone--if he had not seduced her, none of us would be here now!”

“Yet it is Robert you fear now, Ned, where Lyanna and Rhaegar’s child is concerned.”

“Yes, damn it, it is!” he’d admitted. “Gods help us all, I cannot trust him not to harm the babe if he ever learns the truth.”

He’d hated the way his voice had broken. He’d hated that he felt he was somehow betraying Robert with this admission. As angry as he still was at Robert, he still felt the need to be loyal to him, and that had made him angry at himself.

Then Ashara’s arms had been around him, and she’d been kissing his neck. He’d put his arms around her and bent his face toward hers, their lips finding each other’s. The kiss seemed to go on forever until she finally pulled back just enough to whisper against his beard, “I still want you, Eddard Stark.” She’d moved one hand to the front of his breeches to press it against his rapidly hardening cock. “I see you still want me as well,” she’d said with a wicked smile.

At that, he’d pushed her away from him and walked to the other side of the room before turning around. “We must stop this, my lady,” he’d said, still panting for breath. “I am a married man. My lady wife has borne me a son and she awaits my return. I will not do this.”

“Your lady wife will forever believe you have done precisely this, my lord,” she’d told him. “If you are determined to accept the sentence, you might as well commit the crime.” She’d smiled at him. “There are no victims here, Ned. I assure you I am a willing participant.”

“I am not.” He’d turned his back on her as looking at those eyes had made it hard to breathe.

She’d been silent a long time after that. “Well then, Lord Stark, please stay the night at least. You, and your man, and your bastard. I will not disturb you. I give you my word. But surely, you could use a night’s rest in a real bed before you ride for Winterfell.”

He’d turned back to see those violet eyes full of tears, and he’d wondered if grief for her brother had made her reach for him like that. He’d felt guilty for not telling her that Arthur lived, but he’d believed Arthur Dayne well away at that point. He and Howland had tarried another two days at the Tower of Joy dealing with their dead before they’d even started for Starfall.

In truth, Ned was anxious to be away, to put all of this as far behind him as he could, but he felt the least he could do for her now was to accept her hospitality. “That is a most gracious offer, my lady,” he said formally. “We would be honored to accept.”

Despite his troubled mind, he had fallen quickly into a deep sleep that night for he was sorely exhausted. However, he’d found himself awakened by someone shaking him, and a soft voice speaking his name urgently. “Ned, Ned, you must get up.”

His eyes had opened to see Ashara sitting on the bed, her hands on his shoulders, and sat up immediately, pushing her away. “My lady, you should not be here!”

She’d stood up shaking her head, and Ned had realized there were tears running down her face. “I am not here to seduce you, Ned. I . . .I cannot do this. I cannot. You have to go!”

“What . . .what are you talking about, my lady?” His sleep addled brain struggled to make sense of her words as his eyes began to focus in the dim starlight from the windows.

“Arthur . .” she said. “Arthur was here.”

“What?” He leapt from the bed at that and went to grab her arms, mindless that he wore naught but his smallclothes. “When? Where is he now?”

She shook her head and looked down. “Forgive me,” she whispered. “I thought . . .” She looked up at him then and met his eyes directly. “He was here for three days before you arrived. He told me of Rhaegar’s son. He has sent letters proclaiming the child the trueborn heir to the Iron Throne.”

Ned’s heart dropped, and he felt cold all over. “To whom?”

“To far too many people for your lie to ever succeed now, my lord.” She swallowed. “He rode out when we knew you were on your way, but he didn’t go far. He feared you would never agree to fight Robert Baratheon, and so he told me to get the babe from you if I could. If I could not, I was to keep you here long enough for him to prepare an ambush on the road where he might steal the babe away from you.”

“Gods, Ashara! How could you do such a thing?”

“The babe is the rightful king,” she’d insisted. “And . . .he promised you would not be hurt.”

“It was all a lie,” he said. “Everything you said and did today was a lie.”

“No!” she’d insisted. “I did want you. I do. I just thought . . .”

“I must go.” He’d moved away from her and begun putting on his breeches. “Where does your brother intend to lie in wait?”

She’d hesitated only a second. “On the main road between here and High Hermitage. He assumed you would take that way.”

“I would have.” His mind had raced as he reached for his shirt and then his doublet. “Ashara, your damned brother has put far more people in danger than only the babe and myself.”

She looked at him questioningly.

“Robert holds the Iron Throne!” he said angrily. “Whatever your fool brother intends, he has no real power to challenge him now. Do you think Robert will sit back and do nothing if he thinks I have found a trueborn son of Rhaegar Targaryen and kept if from him?”

“I . . .Arthur did not send a letter to King’s Landing.”

“Did he send letters to the Tyrells? The Redwynes? Almost all of the Targaryen loyalists have sworn fealty to Robert now, Ashara! And they certainly will not all jump at the chance to go back on those vows and a chance at good treatment by the new king in order to rally to a babe with no army! Robert will hear it from them!”

She’d looked pale. “But he would not hurt you, Ned,” she’d said hesitantly.

“I have a son, Ashara!” he’d shouted. “Do you think no one in King’s Landing will think of using my wife or my son to gain my cooperation? To force me to turn over Lyanna’s boy? King’s Landing is a damned sight closer to Riverrun than I am now!” He’d been frantic.

“I . . I didn’t . . .”

Fully dressed now, including his boots, he’d walked back to her and grabbed her arms once more. “If I write a letter, will you send it to Riverrun?”

She’d nodded.

“I have no reason to trust you,” he’d said, “But I fear I have no choice, either. I beg you, Ashara. Please send my letter. I would keep my wife and child safe if I could.”

“I’ll send it,” she’d told him. “I promise.” Her face had looked pale and frightened in the dark, but he’d seen no hint of deception. Of course, he’d not realized her lies earlier, either.

He’d awakened Howland Reed, and quickly they’d prepared to ride away under cover of night. The babe’s wet nurse thankfully agreed to ride with them in spite of the obviously suspicious nature of their departure. Ashara had met them outside just as they were mounting up, bringing along several packs of food.

“Be safe,” she’d whispered to Ned, standing close to him beside his horse. “I hope you can forgive me for what I have done. And I hope Arthur can forgive me for what I do now.”

“Your brother believes he is right,” Ned had told her. “And he acts accordingly. I am doing the same. As are you.” He had smiled sadly at her. “We may be at odds in this, my lady, but I hold no malice toward you. I am certain your brother will feel the same.”

She’d actually allowed a choked sob to escape then. “I envy your lady wife, Eddard Stark,” she’d told him, and then she’d grabbed and kissed him fiercely. He hadn’t responded as he had earlier that day, but he hadn’t pushed her away either, and when she’d finally pulled away from him, he’d felt a tiny stab of regret at the loss of her lips against his. Then he’d swung up onto his horse and ridden away.

They had stayed far from the road or even anything resembling a path until they were well out of Dorne and managed to avoid whatever trap Arthur Dayne had laid. They’d chosen to keep well away from main roads even as they approached lands belonging to the Reach, however, as they knew not what word had been sent about them or who might be looking for them. Over the long days and nights, Ned had prayed fervently that Ashara’s raven had reached Riverrun safely, and that his wife and son were even now on their way to Winterfell.

They’d been camped just south of Bitterbridge when Howland had turned to him and asked, “Do you still intend to take the child to Winterfell?”

“Where else can I take him?”

“His presence will put everyone there in greater danger, my lord.”

“I know that! I cannot just abandon him, Howland!”

“Of course, not.” The little crannogman had looked at him for a long moment. “I could take him to Greywater Watch, my lord. I swear to you none could find him there.”

Ned had looked down at the babe who’d rested at that moment in his arms. He’d taken to holding his nephew frequently whenever the babe did not require the wetnurse’s attentions, and had been rather surprised at how fiercely attached he’d become to him. At first, it had been merely the child’s resemblance to Lyanna which had moved him, but now he found himself enchanted by the babe himself.

“I would have him know his family, Howland,” he said quietly.

“As would I, if that possibility lies before him, my lord. But, even more, I would have him live safely.”

Ned had nodded, putting off such thoughts.

They had decided to keep well west of King’s Landing, but as they drew closer to the capital, Howland, who had a way of disappearing into any crowd when he chose, began venturing into little villages to see what news he could glean. He’d returned after one such foray wearing a very sober expression.

“There is a price on your head, my lord,” he’d said without preamble.

“What?”

“King Robert Baratheon has offered a reward for the capture of yourself or Ser Arthur Dayne. He’s also offered a reward for any information about the bastard infant Ser Dayne would put on his throne.”

Ned had swallowed hard, feeling chilled by the fact that his best friend, his comrade in arms, the man he often considered his closest brother, and actually put a price on his head. “What am I worth?” he asked dully.

“Enough to tempt any man. Far more if you’re alive, my lord. It would appear the king would prefer not to have you killed.”

“You are not mentioned by anyone?” Ned had asked his friend.

“It would seem no one knows of me,” the crannogman had said with a small smile. “At least, no one knows I am with you.”

Ned had sighed heavily. “Take the babe to Greywater Watch. Keep Jon safe for me, Howland. Keep him safe for Lya.”

Howland had nodded. “I will, my lord. You may be assured of it.”

After a few moments of silence, Reed had asked, “And what will you do, my lord?”

Ned had looked him in the eyes. “I will go to King’s Landing. I will go and see Robert.”

He’d done exactly as he said in terms of going to King’s Landing, but he hadn’t gotten near Robert. He’d identified himself at the city gate and been taken immediately by the City Guard. He hadn’t resisted, but they’d beaten him badly anyway. Then they’d brought him here and tossed him in this hole. And he honestly didn’t know how long he’d been here. He only hoped that by doing this, he’d given Howland time to get Jon safely away and Hoster Tully time to get Catelyn and his son to the North. The passage of time was difficult for him to mark here.

He barely moved when the door opened until a lantern was held into the cell. The light was so strong after the unrelenting darkness that it burned his eyes painfully and he closed them tightly.

“Gods, man! You look half dead! Why did you have to fight them, Ned?” The booming voice was unmistakably Robert’s although Ned was still too blind to see him.

“I didn’t fight them, Robert,” he said softly. “Had I fought, I might have sustained fewer injuries, and they certainly would have sustained some of their own.”

“I was told you resisted arrest,” Robert said, slightly hesitantly.

“You were lied to.”

“You’d know plenty about that, wouldn’t you?” Robert accused then as he stepped into the little cell, bringing the lantern with him and hanging it on a hook on the wall. As he stepped away from it, Ned could see him more clearly as he no longer had to stare directly at the light. He looked the same as Ned remembered, tall and powerfully muscled with a thick head of black hair. The deep blue of his eyes was not discernible to Ned’s vision at the moment, but he did see more lines around those eyes than he remembered. And Robert’s face was set in a hard frown rather than the exuberant grin he normally wore. “Damn you, Ned! What were you thinking, plotting with Arthur Dayne?”

“Plotting?” Ned asked incredulously from his position on the floor. “I fought him nearly to the death in order to free Lyanna, Robert. I hardly call that plotting.”

“The babe, Ned! You and Dayne want to put Rhaegar’s bastard on my throne!”

Ned sighed. “If you truly believe that, then I have never known you at all.”

Robert crossed the tiny cell in two strides and jerked Ned up by the front of his shirt. “It is I who don’t know you!” he shouted at him. “What am I to think of all this? What have you done, Ned?”

Ned met his eyes. “Let go of my shirt, and I will tell you it all, Robert.”

When Robert released him, he sagged back against the wall but remained on his feet. He told him of finding Lyanna at the Tower of Joy, the battle with the Kingsguard, and the death of his men. He did not mention Howland, however.

“Why did you let Dayne live, Ned? Why?”

“I told him to leave the Seven Kingdoms, Robert. I was tired of the killing. He’d fought valiantly, enemy or no, and . . .” Ned shook his head. “I was wrong,” he said. “I should have killed him.”

Robert stared at him. “But the babe, Ned. You did take Rhaegar’s bastard, did you not?”

“I took my bastard,” Ned said, continuing to look his friend in the eye. “I took my bastard and rode with him for Winterfell where I could see him raised decently enough even with his mother dead.”

“You lie!” Robert accused him, shaking him so that his sore bones rattled. “You’re the last man in the Seven Kingdoms I’d believe fathered a bastard. Hell, I barely believe you and your frozen cock fathered a babe on that Tully bride of yours! This babe is the seed of that Targaryen rapist! You know it is!”

Ned took several breaths to calm himself. “I did not intend anyone else to know it. Ever. Not even the boy, himself.” He forced himself to say the next words. “Lyanna loved her babe, Robert. She made me promise to protect him. She knew what happened to Elia Martell’s children.”

“That was Lord Tywin’s doing,” Robert protested.

“But it pleased you. You cannot deny that. I heard you call them dragonspawn.”

Robert shook his head. “I would not hurt Lyanna’s child. Gods, Ned! I loved her!”

“You did,” Ned acknowledged. “But tell me you could either welcome or ignore a child of Rhaegar Targaryen’s, Robert. Tell me that.”

“I won’t kill it!” he said. “Where is it?”

“Let me claim the boy as my bastard,” Ned implored him. “It is my word against Arthur Dayne’s. There is no proof that . . .”

Robert shook his head. “No. Dayne’s tale has spread too far. No one will believe you, Ned.” He looked at Ned somewhat ruefully. “Especially after I’ve had you locked up here.”

“A bastard, whether it be mine or Lyanna’s, is no threat to your throne, Robert,” Ned said then, latching on to the fact that Robert had repeatedly called Jon a bastard since coming to the cell.

“Don’t bother telling me that, Ned. You had to suffer through history lessons in the Eyrie same as I did. I recall the Blackfyre Rebellion well enough.”

“Those fights were among the king’s own bastards, Robert, not with bastards of other lines. Perhaps you should worry more about the babes you insist upon spawning about the kingdoms.”

“Hold your tongue, Ned. Need I remind you that you are speaking to your King?”

“I am well aware of that, Your Grace,” Ned replied. “I fought to help you gain this throne. I would have you keep it.”

“Would you?” Robert looked at him. “Where is the bastard, Ned?”

“I do not know.” It was true enough. He hoped that Jon was still with Howland Reed, rapidly approaching the safety of Greywater Watch, but he couldn’t know that for sure. Even if he did, he could no more find Greywater Watch than Robert could--not without Howland to guide him.

“Do not lie to me, Ned,” Robert growled dangerously.

“I do not lie. When I heard you had put a price on my head, I gave the babe to a man I trust and bid him keep him safe from Arthur Dayne who wants to use him as some sort of political rallying point.” _And to keep him safe from you._ “Do not ask me for his name, Your Grace. I will not give it.”

“You’d throw titles at me, but refuse to obey me? Am I your king or not, Ned?”

“You are my king, Your Grace,” Ned said, dropping painfully to his knee in front of his lifelong friend. “I will take any vow of fealty you ask of me. I will fight any foe you command me to fight. I will hold the North in your name and dispense your justice. But I will not give you my sister’s child.”

Robert stared at him a moment and then turned away. “He raped her, Ned. How many times do you suppose he raped her?” he said softly.

 _It wasn’t rape. Whatever it was, it wasn’t rape._ But he wasn’t about to tell Robert that. “I don’t like to think on it,” he said instead. “But whatever else, Robert, she did love this babe. And I promised her I would raise him.”

“Dayne claims the little whelp is trueborn,” Robert said through clenched teeth. “That her rapist had the nerve to actually wed her, and him with a wife and two children already. What do you know of that?”

“Only that Ser Arthur said it,” Ned answered truthfully enough. Lyanna had not specifically said it, although she had called her son Rhaegar’s heir, so he did not doubt the veracity of the Dornishman’s word. “Robert, can you honestly see Lyanna wedding a man she hated?” Ned chose his words carefully and told himself there was no lie in them.

“No,” Robert said softly. “Not my Wolf Maid. He might have dragged her to a sept, but she never would have said the words. She’d have spit in his face.” He seemed to take reassurance from the thought. “He is a bastard then. Of course, Doran Martell doesn’t appear to think so.”

“Doran Martell?” Ned said, shocked. “I’d expect Elia’s brother would be the last man who would welcome a child of Lyanna’s as a legitimate heir.”

Robert laughed bitterly. “Rhaegar treated Elia shamefully, but he didn’t kill her or her children. Right or wrong, Doran lays that crime at my feet.”

When Ned remained silent, Robert said softly, “And it would appear he is not the only one. In any event, Doran Martell has a daughter who is five or six years old. Not too old to be a queen one day for this new little dragonspawn should the brat Rhaegar forced on Lyanna be declared legitimate.”

Ned willed himself not to react at Robert’s use of the word dragonspawn in referring to his nephew. “You have more than enough strength to stand against Dorne should it come to that,” he told Robert.

“I do. But as this child grows, Ned, if Dayne continues to spin his tale, who can say which lords might be swayed. How do I secure my throne to my heirs while this child is out there as a . . .what did you call it? . . .political rallying point?”

“You might start by wedding and producing some heirs of your own, Your Grace. Legitimate ones, I mean.”

“Do you swear to me Arthur Dayne does not have Rhaegar’s bastard?”

“I swear it, Robert, on my honor as a Stark.”

Robert nodded. “I will need some other form of security, though. I will send to Riverrun and have your son brought here.”

“My son is not even close to being weaned,” Ned protested.

“Your wife is not the only woman in the Seven Kingdoms with teats, although I do recall Brandon saying hers were quite lovely. But if you object to the boy being fed by a wetnurse, I can have your wife brought here as well.”

“My family belongs with me in Winterfell, Robert.”

“You aren’t going to Winterfell yet, Ned.”

Ned tensed at the ominous tone in Robert’s voice.

“You swore you would fight any foe I send you against. I would have you find and kill Arthur Dayne.”

Ned swallowed. “You would hold my wife and child as hostages, Robert? You would truly do that?”

“I’ll take just the boy, if you’d prefer. Or the other boy. Give me the bastard, and I won’t even make you go after Dayne. The man can’t hurt me if I have the bastard.”

“No,” Ned said. “My son and nephew will not be hostages, Robert. Nor will my wife.”

“Gods, man! You have to give me something here!” Robert shouted at him.

“You have me, Your Grace,” Ned said quietly.

“I do! And I’ll keep you in this hole, damn you, as long as you defy me!” He turned to walk from the cell, but turned at the door and looked back. “And I may not know where you’ve hidden Rhaegar’s little bastard, but I know the way to Riverrun, Ned. I will have your son brought here. You cannot stop me from doing that!”

He turned away again and strode out before Ned could reply, leaving a guard to come in and retrieve the lantern. When the door closed behind the guard, leaving Ned ensconced in total darkness once more, he sank down onto the floor shaking, and prayed even more fervently that his Lady Catelyn and their babe were well away from Riverrun.

 _Gods forgive me,_ he thought. _I should have killed Arthur Dayne._


	2. Catelyn

The wind had a definite chill to it as Catelyn Tully, _no, Stark, I am Catelyn Stark now,_ got her first glimpse of Winterfell. The grey stone walls rose up ahead of them with towers and turrets of varying size and design seemingly scattered about randomly inside those walls. Winterfell was thousands of years old, Brandon Stark had once told her, and different structures within it had been built at different times. She’d always considered Riverrun to be an ancient fortress, but looking upon her new home, she realized she hadn’t known what ancient was until this moment.

“Cat! Is that it? Is it?” Edmure urged his horse to come alongside hers, and she smiled at her little brother.

“It is,” she said. “What do you think?”

His boyish face scrunched up into a frown. “It looks cold,” he answered.

She laughed. “It isn’t, though,” she told him. “The North is cold, to be sure, but Winterfell is warmed by hot springs. Water from the earth, Edmure, that bubbles up naturally hot without ever being heated by a fire.”

Her younger brother looked at her disbelievingly, and she laughed again. “It’s true,” she promised. “Brandon told me all about it when I worried I might freeze here. And then Lord Eddard told me that he had selected some of the warmest rooms in the castle to be mine so that I might never be cold. He told me my rooms would seldom need a fire even in winter.” She smiled and winked at Edmure. “I’m not entirely certain I believe that, but it must at least be comfortably warm the way he spoke about it.”

“Can I stay in your rooms, Cat?” he asked her, suddenly sounding very young.

“At least at first,” she promised him. “Although you must be in your own room by the time Lord Eddard arrives.” Then she bit her lip, wondering if her lord husband would ever arrive in Winterfell. Lysa’s letter had frightened her more than she cared to admit.

She didn’t like to dwell on such things, but it was difficult to keep her mind away from them, especially as she was now moments away from beginning her life as Lady Stark in truth. She reflexively put an arm tightly around Robb where he nestled against her in his swaddling. How could the man she had named him for have suddenly become her lord husband’s enemy? She had been in the presence of Eddard Stark for only two weeks, but she could not begin to imagine the man she had met and married at Riverrun committing any betrayal deserving of ill treatment by the man he had helped crown king.

She worried for her father at Riverrun. Lord Hoster had assured her that he was perfectly safe there, and that he expected no reprisals from King’s Landing for sending her North, and yet he’d sent Edmure with her. While she was beyond glad to have the company of her younger brother, she knew her father would not have sent his heir away lightly, and it worried her.

“Cat! Someone’s coming out. Look!” Edmure said excitedly, pointing toward the castle.

Sure enough, several riders were now coming toward them at a brisk trot, and Catelyn felt her breath catch. A letter had been sent to Lord Eddard’s brother, Benjen, about her coming. Of course, Benjen wasn’t even a man grown, in truth, not yet fourteen. Lord Eddard had confided that he relied greatly on the maester in service to House Stark and other trusted men to advise him. Catelyn fought down a momentary flash of panic as the maester’s name escaped her. _Luwin,_ she remembered with relief. _His name is Luwin. Ser Rodrik Cassel is master-of-arms and Lord Eddard had just named a new man steward when he came here from the Eyrie to call his banners---Vayon, that’s it. Vayon Poole._

She recited the names of Winterfell’s household staff to herself like a litany and drew strength from it. She had learned all she could of Winterfell and its people, first from Brandon who had seemed amused by her questions and then from Lord Eddard, who had seemed genuinely pleased that she was so eager to learn all she could of her future home. While the long afternoons spent in Riverrun’s godswood with Brandon and walks along the banks of the Tumblestone or Red Fork with her hand on his arm had always been pleasant, and often even thrilling to Catelyn, she had found that his answers to her queries were more often designed to amuse, entertain, impress, or even shock her rather than give her solid information. When she’d pressed him for details on the more mundane aspects of managing Winterfell, he’d laughed at her and told her she was much too pretty to engage in such dull conversation.

Lord Eddard, on the other hand, ( _Ned,_ she reminded herself. _He asked that I call him Ned,_ although she still found it nearly impossible to do so even in her own thoughts) had seemed to understand instinctively what information she needed and had shared it with her freely in their brief time together, always speaking in that soft, formal, courteous voice of his and apologizing for any deficits in his knowledge caused by his long years away in the Eyrie.

 _My husband._ She still sometimes had difficulty believing she had a husband for all she had birthed his child. She had given herself completely to Lord Eddard Stark--her body, her future, her children. Everything she had would now be his, and yet she still didn’t know him. She liked him. She hadn’t thought she would at first, childishly comparing him to his handsome older brother who’d made her heart skip with his kisses when Septa wasn’t looking. But she had come to like him a great deal in their short time together, and while it made her feel terribly disloyal, she thought she might respect him more than she ever had Brandon.

 _But what have you done, my lord?_ she thought desperately now. The rumors were as varied as they were unbelievable. He’d ridden out from Dorne intending to place an infant Targaryen prince on the Iron Throne. He’d killed Ser Arthur Dayne and kidnapped that Targaryen prince. There was no Targaryen prince, and he’d conspired with Dayne to put his own bastard on King Robert’s throne!

Catelyn could reconcile none of these things with the quiet, solemn man who’d draped a direwolf cloak over her shoulders in Riverrun’s sept--the man so obviously weighted down by grief and duty, and yet just as obviously so careful and kind in his treatment of her. Her father had cautioned her sternly to give no credence to any words but those of her lord husband himself, but Lord Eddard’s letter had said almost nothing except that she must leave at once for Winterfell! There had been instructions for her lord father to send to Benjen Stark at Winterfell, but only the barest mention of the reasons for any of it.

Her father had simply pointed to the passage which read, _I assure you, my lord, that I have acted with honor, that my fealty to King Robert Baratheon remains unfailing, and that I shall endeavor to put to right all misunderstandings that currently abound. Yet, the circumstances I find myself in do pose some threat to those I hold dear, and it is for this reason I ask you to send my lady wife and son to Winterfell in all haste. I know you will be loath to part with Lady Catelyn and her child, but I assure you that their safety is my priority now. For the love you bear your daughter and grandson, send them home to Winterfell, and I swear to you on my honor as a Stark that I shall defend them from all harm. I pledge my life to that._

She had read those words, hearing them in her head as if spoken in her husband’s cool, formal voice which she had already learned carried in its tones a great depth of feeling and conviction if you only listened carefully. She had pictured his serious grey eyes looking into hers--eyes that may keep the man’s true feelings hidden deeply behind them but did not seem capable of actual deceit.

“I shall begin packing at once,” she’d told her father.

“That’s my brave girl,” her father had said. “It will be fine, Little Cat. You shall go to Winterfell, and no doubt Lord Eddard will join you there himself before you’ve even settled in.”

Then Lysa’s letter had come.

“Lady Stark! Welcome!” The voice that called out the title she only barely recognized as her own was startlingly near, and Catelyn jumped just a bit as she was pulled abruptly from her reverie to find that six horsemen now approached within easy hailing distance.

Four of them were obviously men-at-arms, likely members of Winterfell’s household guard. The two lead horses were occupied by an older man whose hair and extremely impressive whiskers were completely white, and a very thin youth whose facial features were somewhat sharper than Brandon’s or her lord husband’s, but still similar enough to show their common parentage. It was the youth who had spoken, his voice still with the somewhat higher pitch of adolescence, but showing the promise of a deeper timbre to come. Catelyn thought his voice likely to become at least as deep as Brandon’s and possibly even Lord Eddard’s.

“Goodbrother!” she greeted him cheerfully as their horses drew closer together. “It is most kind of you to ride out and welcome us.”

The boy grinned. “Ned would skin me if he ever heard I treated you with anything but the utmost courtesy, my lady.” He bowed his head formally in her direction.

Catelyn returned the smile. His grin was Brandon’s, but his phrasing and formal tone even as he spoke in jest was her husband’s. “I shall be certain to tell him I have never before been so graciously received,” she told him, her manner just as formal, but her blue eyes sparkling with amusement.

He laughed out loud, his own eyes full of mirth, and she realized to her surprise that they were blue, rather than grey like his brothers’. “No wonder Brandon liked you,” he said. Immediately, his expression became troubled. “I mean . .I’m sure Ned likes you, too, it’s only that I haven’t . . . I mean he hasn’t . .”

The boy in front of her had instantly gone from the Stark in Winterfell to a stammering little brother who appeared not much older than Edmure. Before Catelyn could think of the best way to rescue him, the older man on the horse beside him stepped into the breach. “Benjen, I believe we should get Lady Stark and her party indoors. I know you have much to discuss, but they have traveled a long way and will no doubt welcome a warm hearth and comfortable chambers.”

“Ser Rodrik!” Catelyn exclaimed suddenly, realizing who the man was. Brandon had given her a riotous description of his whiskers, and Lord Eddard had told her that the man’s hair had been completely white for as long as he could remember. Not even his nephew Jory could remember it as any other color.

The man smiled in genuine pleasure at her recognition. “I am honored, Lady Stark,” he said, bowing his own head. “Ser Rodrik Cassel, at your service, my lady.”

Smiling back at him, Catelyn told him, “Both my lord husband and his brother Brandon spoke very well of you, Ser Rodrik. I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”

She knew that everyone at Winterfell would be well aware of her long engagement to Brandon Stark and the events which had led to her marriage to Eddard instead. Realizing that talk of Brandon could hardly be avoided in his home among his people, she had decided to speak about him without hesitation and simply refer to him always as Lord Eddard’s brother rather than in any connection to her. She wanted to leave these people in no doubt that she knew well what man was their lord and her husband, and that she was well prepared to take up her responsibilities as Lord Eddard’s wife and the Lady of Winterfell.

Ser Rodrik, at any rate, appeared pleased by her speech. She quickly introduced him and Benjen to Edmure, Septa Mordane, and the captain of the men who’d brought them here. Then she smiled down toward her midsection where Robb, in response to the horse remaining still for so long, had begun to stir within his wrappings beneath her cloak. “I fear my son is waking up and will soon be making a fearful racket. We should get within the castle before he truly gets started,” she said.

Benjen Stark stared at her. “He’s right there? My nephew?”

“Of course,” Catelyn said. “You didn’t think I’d leave him behind, did you?”

“No,” Benjen said then, smiling up at her briefly before becoming quite serious once more. “Let’s get inside then. I’ll take you to your chambers, my lady, and then if you could be so kind as to meet with me in the lord’s solar, I’ll have food brought for you there. We do have much to discuss.” The boyishness was gone now, and her young goodbrother was once more the Stark in Winterfell, reminding her quite a bit of her lord husband. There was a certain uneasiness in his face and tone as he said ‘much to discuss,’ however, that made her somewhat anxious.

The courtyard of the castle was quite crowded when they entered, filled with people there to tend to their horses and baggage and to direct her men to their quarters. She suspected a good number of people were also there simply to get their first look at the new Lady of Winterfell, and she did her best to look confident and to smile at all of those staring faces. Robb’s wiggling against her and his increasingly loud cries did not make that easy, however.

Two of her men helped her down from her horse. She would have liked to have shown these people she was perfectly capable of dismounting on her own, but of course, she couldn’t do that with Robb attached to her. Almost as soon as her feet hit the ground, a round faced woman perhaps fifteen years her senior came up and knelt before her.

“Lady Stark,” she said. “I’m Etta. I’m to be your maid, if it please you, milady.” She smiled up at Catelyn, who extended a hand to her. “I think the young lord’s hungry, milady,” Etta said as she rose. “I’d best be getting you both inside to your chambers.”

“I can walk Lady Stark to her chambers, Etta,” said Benjen, approaching them.

“And help her feed the babe, milord?” Etta said to him with the particular combination of respect and teasing affection Catelyn recognized as the mark of a long time family servant.

Benjen looked distinctly uncomfortable, and Catelyn laid a hand on his arm. “Etta can take me, my lord,” she told him. “I would be most appreciative if you could show my brother whatever rooms are to be given to him. He’s been in my company far too long, and he’d like to see more of the castle, I know. Once I’ve settled Robb, we can speak at length.”

Benjen nodded. “I’ll come find you in your chambers after I’ve gotten young Lord Tully settled in then.”

“That will be wonderful, my lord.”

“Ben,” he told her. “Call me Ben. Ned’s the lord. I’m just . . .here.”

He turned then to speak with Edmure whose face lit up at the attention. Lord Eddard had told her his brother was just shy of four years older than hers, and she could see that Edmure was already half in awe of this very young man who seemed to be in charge of an entire castle. She smiled at the two of them and then turned to follow Etta to her new bedchamber.

When they entered the Great Keep, as she learned it was called, she was pleasantly surprised that even the corridors were not terribly cold, and she had Etta take her cloak so that she might free her struggling son from his swaddling immediately and put him upon her shoulder to carry him to her rooms. He seemed to calm a little at that.

“What a handsome lad, milady!” Etta exclaimed when she saw him. “I see he’s got that pretty, bright hair like yours. The young girls will be on him like flies when he’s older!”

Catelyn smiled at the woman’s enthusiastic response to Robb. He didn’t look anything like a Stark, and that had in fact worried her. The babe on her shoulder was the heir to Winterfell, and she wanted him accepted as such by everyone here.

Her chambers were lovely, and every bit as warm as Lord Eddard had told her. She was almost too warm in the layers she had worn against the chill outside. She selected a comfortable appearing chair and sat down at once, undoing the laces on her bodice to allow Robb to latch onto her teat. As her son began to suckle, she sighed contentedly and leaned back closing her eyes.

She meant to close them only briefly, but it seemed she nearly dozed, and she wasn’t sure how long. She was vaguely aware of Etta’s voice directing someone about and realized that her belongings had been brought here. She hadn’t realized how tired she was, but as she stirred herself to move Robb to the other teat, she found herself looking longingly at the bed. It was larger than average, piled with fur coverings, and looked very comfortable. A beautifully carved wooden cradle lay within easy reach of it.

“Shall I tell young Benjen you need to rest before you meet with him, milady?”

Catelyn tore her gaze away from the bed and looked up at Etta now standing over her. “No, Etta,” she said. She had no intention of appearing weak or frail her first day in Winterfell regardless of how exhausted she was. “I will be quite ready to meet with Benjen in his solar as soon as Robb has had his fill.” She smiled fondly down at her little auburn haired boy.

“He eats well, milady. Gets that from his father. Lord Eddard was never a difficult babe to feed.”

Catelyn smiled up at her. “You knew my lord husband as a babe, Etta?”

The older woman laughed. “Knew him? Helped to feed him, I did. I was fifteen when Lord Eddard was born, and just had my own little girl. She was my first. I’ve had eight babes now, and five of them still live,” she said proudly.

Catelyn tried to smile at her, but the mere thought of Robb not living beyond her made her clutch him more tightly.

“Lady Stark, Lord Stark’s mother that is, didn’t seem to have enough milk to keep little Lord Eddard satisfied, and I had plenty to spare.” She grinned then and indicated Robb whose little head had fallen back away from Catelyn’s nipple, his eyes closed in a perfect portrait of contentment and satiety. “It appears you don’t have that problem, milady. Do you generally feed him yourself?”

“I always feed him myself,” Catelyn answered.

Etta nodded approvingly. “I think you’re all settled here, milady. I’ll leave you to yourself for a bit, and then let young Benjen know you’re ready for him.”

“Thank you, Etta.” Catelyn stretched and lifted Robb up to her shoulder to pat his back as the woman left her room. When Robb belched loudly without so much as opening an eye, she smiled and rose to lay him in the cradle. It was a beautiful thing, dark wood with a pattern of elegant scrollwork and direwolves carved into the sides. She thought about Etta’s story and wondered if Robb’s father had once slept in that cradle and somehow hoped that he had. For all his Tully looks, her son was a Stark, heir to Winterfell, and she would have him form a strong connection to this place and its people.

After assuring herself that Robb was sleeping soundly, she walked to the dressing table set against one wall above which hung a large looking glass with an elaborate frame. She thought it likely had come from somewhere in the south as it stood out against the comparative simplicity of the rest of the room’s décor. Catelyn loved beautiful things, but she found herself thinking the more simple northern designs were exceptionally beautiful in their own way.

Her own reflection in the glass didn’t show her much in the way of beauty, however. She looked precisely like a woman who had traveled a long way in as short a time as possible, and she picked up the brush Etta or one of the other maids had laid there for her and began to make what repairs to her appearance as she could without having a long bath.

As she took down her hair to brush it out and re-braid it, she found herself thinking of Lysa’s letter to Riverrun. It had arrived a mere two days after Lord Eddard’s, but Catelyn and her party were already preparing to depart for her lord father had made no delay in following Lord Eddard’s instructions.

She’d actually been in her childhood bedroom, mentally telling the only home she’d ever known goodbye when her father had come upon her and thrust a piece of parchment into her hands.

“What’s this?” she’d asked him.

“A letter for you,” he’d said brusquely. “It’s from your sister in King’s Landing, apparently. I recognize her hand, but it appears to be gibberish to me.”

Catelyn had almost laughed. As girls, she and Lysa had long ago realized that neither Father, Septa Mordane, nor even Petyr Baelish had any qualms about reading letters, notes, or anything belonging to the two of them, and they’d invented ways to speak and write things to each other that no one else could possibly decipher, virtually creating their own secret language over the years.

“I can read it,” she’d assured him, unrolling it with a smile. Lord Jon Arryn had sent men to bring her sister to him in King’s Landing, and she had left with those men and their Uncle Brynden just barely long enough ago to have reached their destination and sent a raven. Catelyn had been thrilled that the letter arrived before her departure.

As she’d read her sister’s message, however, the smile had faded rapidly from her face.

“What is it, Little Cat?” her father had asked, alarmed by her expression. “Is something amiss with Lysa? Has something happened to her?”

Catelyn had shaken her head slowly. “Lysa is well enough, but King Robert has called for my lord husband’s arrest.” She had stared at the parchment, unable to believe she’d read it correctly.

“What?” her father had exclaimed. “Whatever for?”

“Suspicion of crimes against the crown,” Catelyn had answered, somehow keeping her voice steady. “She says she dares not write much, even like this. Lord Arryn is trying to convince the King not to act hastily, but the king is somehow convinced that Lord Eddard is after his throne.”

“That’s preposterous!” her father had insisted. “Whatever King Robert has been told, you must know it for lies, Cat,” he’d said, reaching out to hold a hand she hadn’t realized was trembling. “Your husband is an honorable man. He cannot be guilty of such things. Does your sister say anything else?”

“Nothing that makes sense,” she’d whispered. “There’s something about a bastard, but I don’t understand what she means.”

“Whatever else she means, it certainly means it is past time for you and your son to depart for Winterfell, my sweetling. The letter to Benjen Stark went out two days ago. He and his men will soon know what they are to do. I will rest easier when you are safely in the North.” He’d thought for a moment. “Cat, I’d have you take Edmure along as well.”

“Edmure? But why?”

“I don’t truly fear anything here, but Winterfell is more remote and therefore even more defensible than Riverrun. I would have your brother secure with you until all these things are settled.”

 _One way or the other._ He hadn’t said it, but Catelyn had heard it all the same and she felt an icy chill. “First, I must write to Lysa,” she’d told him.

“Catelyn, you cannot put your sister at risk,” her father had admonished her.

“Could you understand a word in her letter, Father?” she’d asked. “I can write to her in the same fashion. I will make the beginning plain enough, tell her that I hope my letter awaits her in King’s Landing as a welcome and that I hope to hear from her soon. That way no one need know I ever received any word from her before I wrote. The rest will seem nonsensical, women’s silliness. The worst that will happen is that someone reading it might think it too foolish to even deliver to her, in which case I’ve gained nothing, but lost nothing either.”

“What would you have your sister do, Little Cat?”

“Nothing that would put her in harm’s way. You know Lord Arryn will keep her safe, Father. And I cannot believe that man would ever believe ill of my lord husband. Lord Arryn is the King’s Hand. Surely, the King will at least hear his counsel. I would have her tell him that Robb and I are safely gone to Winterfell, and that if the king does anything so rash as arresting my husband, the North will stand firmly for Lord Eddard Stark. That may give Robert Baratheon pause. He wouldn’t have his throne without the North and the Riverlands.” She bit her lip as she thought about precisely what to write.

“You would have me declare my intent to support Lord Eddard as well?” he’d asked her.

“No! You can’t. Lysa is in King’s Landing. I do believe Lord Arryn will protect her, but if the King does not listen to him, she could be used as a hostage against your good behavior. You cannot help us here, Father.”

He’d looked at her gravely. “If it comes to war . . .” he’d started.

“It won’t. It can’t.” She’d fought down the hint of desperation in her voice. “The war is over and we won it. King Robert, Lord Jon, Lord Eddard, and you. You are allies, not enemies. This is some twisted matter of politics. It will be sorted out soon enough. I know it will.”

She’d looked at her father then, needing him to reassure her that she spoke truly, and he did not disappoint her. “I am certain you are correct, my sweetling,” he’d said, patting her hand gently. “But until it is sorted out, let’s get you, your son, and your brother well north of Moat Cailin, shall we?”

A knock at the door of the room and a courteous male voice calling, “Lady Stark?” pulled her back from Riverrun to Winterfell. She didn’t recognize the voice, but it was far too mature to be Benjen’s.

She patted her newly re-braided hair and took a deep breath. “Come in,” she called, turning on the stool to face the door.

The door opened to reveal a small grey man in a grey robe. Catelyn knew instantly who he was from her lord husband’s description of the man. “Maester Luwin,” she said warmly. “I am pleased to see you.”

“My lady,” the man said courteously, bowing his head to her. “You honor me.”

“My lord husband told me much of you. He said I would find you an enormous help to me here at Winterfell. His brother spoke to me of you as well.”

The maester’s lips twitched a bit at that. “Ah, but I doubt our Brandon spoke as much of my helpfulness as he did of my insistence that he learn things he saw no reason to know. I fear he was never as studious as Lord Eddard, and I confess I often envied the maester at the Eyrie the Stark brother whose education fell to him.”

The man was correct in his assumptions of what Brandon had said about him, and Catelyn laughed out loud, pleased that what she could hear most in Luwin’s assessment of the two brothers was the underlying affection he felt for both of them. “It would appear that my lord husband was quite correct in telling me how very astute you are, Maester Luwin,” she told him.

“If I may say so, Lady Stark, both Brandon and Lord Eddard were also correct in telling me how lovely you are.”

Catelyn felt the color rise to her cheeks, but then she realized precisely what the man had said and became puzzled. “Both?” she asked before she could stop herself. She did not think Lord Eddard had returned to Winterfell since their wedding at Riverrun.

The maester smiled at her, his kind grey eyes lit with amusement. “Lord Eddard can write, my lady. And he is not a man to spend a year away from his seat without any correspondence. You may be interested to know he also wrote that he found you extremely intelligent and thoughtful. He went so far as to claim he had more confidence in your abilities to be Winterfell’s Lady than in his own to be its Lord.”

Catelyn bit her lip. While it shocked her somewhat that Eddard Stark would have written of her at all, the maester’s words did sound like something he would say. The man always had loftier words for others than he had for himself. She’d learned that about him quickly enough.

While she remained silent, the maester walked to the cradle and peered down at her sleeping son. “He is a fine boy, my lady,” he said, “And appears to be quite robust.”

“Well, he certainly takes enough milk to be robust,” she said with a fond smile toward the cradle. “I sometimes think he would do nothing but feed if I allowed him.”

“There are several young women in the castle who could serve as suitable wetnurses should the need arise, my lady.”

She was shaking her head before he finished speaking. “It won’t,” she said. “Robb is my son, and I prefer to feed him myself. I assure you I am quite healthy enough to do so.”

“I have no doubt of it, my lady.”

Catelyn decided she quite liked Winterfell’s maester. The North may be cold, but judging by young Benjen, Ser Rodrik, Etta, and now Maester Luwin, its people certainly weren’t. “Isn’t Benjen coming to escort me to his solar?” she asked Luwin now.

He smiled again. “It is your lord husband’s solar, my lady,” he said gently. “And Benjen will quickly correct you if you call it otherwise. If there is a boy in all the Seven Kingdoms who less wants to be a High Lord, I have not met him.” The man sighed then, and his face became grave. “I suppose we cannot delay any longer, although I wish the pleasantness of welcoming you to Winterfell could be prolonged, Lady Stark.” Like Benjen earlier, his face seemed to reflect some deep trouble which she knew nothing about, and it worried her. “I told young Benjen I would like a chance to meet you, my lady, and begged the opportunity to escort you to the lord’s solar myself. I hope you do not mind.”

“Of course not. Where is my brother, Edmure?”

“Benjen left him in the Great Hall where he is being well fed and regaled with outrageously frivolous stories of the North by a formidable woman everyone here calls Old Nan. Her stories are largely nonsense, of course, but I’ve yet to meet a child who isn’t fascinated by them.”

Catelyn smiled. Edmure was all right then, for he certainly loved stories.

“And what about Robb?” she asked.

Almost instantly, another soft knock heralded the return of Etta who assured Catelyn she would stay right with the sleeping infant and come to find her if he had need of her.

As she walked through the corridors of the Great Keep beside the maester, Catelyn endeavored to memorize the twists and turns and stairs so that she could navigate her own home without an escort sooner rather than later. When they arrived at the solar, Luwin knocked once briskly and opened it without waiting for an invitation from within.

Seated behind a large ornate desk was Benjen Stark, looking even thinner and younger without his fur cloak, and standing over him was Ser Rodrik Cassel. “I tell you, Benjen, you’ve got no choice now. You have to call the banners.”

Catelyn’s heart skipped a beat. Surely, she had heard incorrectly.

“I’m afraid you’re right, Ser Rodrik,” Benjen said tiredly, rubbing his face with his hands. He looked up then at Catelyn and the maester. “Come in and sit down,” he said.

Catelyn quickly walked over and took the chair Benjen had indicated. “What are you talking about?” she asked with no preamble. “What do you mean, call the banners? The men have scarcely returned home!”

“You think I don’t know that?” Benjen said, looking exasperated. “But I don’t see what else I can do.”

“We could wait to hear from my lord husband,” she said, looking desperately from one man to another. “Surely, Lord Eddard would want a say in such a drastic step, whatever foolishness someone in King’s Landing is spouting about him.”

Benjen looked at her as if she had lost her mind. “And just how do you expect Ned to get here, my lady? Do you think he can simply walk out?”

Catelyn looked at him, trying to make sense of his words. “I . . . I don’t understand . . .” she said, trying very hard not to allow her voice or her hands to shake.

It was Luwin who saw the difficulty. “She doesn’t know, Ben,” he said softly. “Likely, she left Riverrun before any word of it came.”

“Word of what?” she asked the maester, reaching up to grasp at his hand, no longer able to mask her distress. “Tell me, Maester Luwin. What word?”

The man looked at her with sympathetic grey eyes. “Lady Catelyn,” he said softly, “I fear Lord Eddard has been arrested. He is being held prisoner in the Red Keep.”

The world spun wildly, and Catelyn felt dizzy. She was grateful to be sitting down, and she gripped the maester’s hand tightly. “No,” she said. It came out as a whisper.

“Lady Catelyn, are you well?” The maester’s voice sounded far away. She had heard these same words spoken about Brandon in another life. Brandon had been arrested and held prisoner in the Red Keep. Then Brandon had been murdered.

_No! That king was a madman. This king is my husband’s closest friend. It isn’t the same. It can’t be the same!_

“My lady?”

“Is she going to faint?” That was Benjen’s voice.

“No,” Catelyn choked out. She breathed deeply and forced herself to concentrate. “No,” she said more firmly. “I am not going to faint.” She looked across the desk at her goodbrother. “But you aren’t going to call the banners, either. Not yet. We cannot afford to escalate this any further right now.”

“They have my brother locked up!” Benjen’s eyes were desperate, and Catelyn knew his thoughts were the same as hers. He had even more reason to be distraught than she did, she realized. Eddard Stark was her husband and the father of her child, but her feelings for him went no deeper than respect and a tentative sort of vague affection. He was Benjen’s brother, his last remaining family member. She could not imagine what he felt and marveled that he’d been able to greet her and see her settled in before getting into this discussion.

“Yes, they do,” she said softly. “But they are the men of Robert Baratheon. Whatever discord has come between the King and Lord Eddard, they have been like brothers all their lives. I cannot believe King Robert would take his life.”

“I couldn’t believe he locked him up,” Benjen protested. “They were always together. Brandon once told Ned they should just marry each other leave Lya out of it. Ned scowled and Robert laughed and said Ned wasn’t as pretty as Lya. He was always laughing with or about Ned. What could have happened?”

Once again, Catelyn was struck by Benjen’s youth. “I don’t know, but I do know from the letter Lord Eddard sent my father that he intends to remain loyal to King Robert. I can’t think he’d thank us for committing treason before he has a chance to clear up whatever has been falsely laid at his feet.”

The three men all looked at her as if waiting for her to continue. She took a deep breath and did so. “Robert Baratheon has a temper, no? You know more of him than I, but if he arrested Lord Eddard in a fit of temper, then he is more likely to see reason once his temper has passed.”

“That is possible, my lady,” Ser Rodrik put in, “but have you heard what is being said?”

“That my husband is attempting usurp Robert Baratheon’s throne for some bastard babe--whether it be a Targaryen or one of his own.” She said the words quickly so that she could get them out.

“Do you believe that could be true?” Maester Luwin asked softly.

She swallowed. “There could be a babe,” she said softly. She looked at Benjen sympathetically. “Rhaegar Targaryen certainly had your sister long enough to get a child on her.” Benjen’s grim face told her he was already well aware of that. “But I cannot believe the man I wed would condone seating any bastard on the Iron Throne, whether it be his sister’s or . . .his own. It makes no sense to me.”

They remained silent. “Well?” she asked them. “You all have known the man far longer than I. Does it make sense to you?”

Benjen shook his head.

“No, my lady,” Maester Luwin said softly. “It does not. I believe you are correct in all you say. But if Lady Lyanna did bear a child, I fear that Lord Eddard would not willingly hand it over to Robert Baratheon. Not after Princess Elia’s children were murdered.”

Catelyn looked at him. She had not considered that. She remembered well the grief etched deeply into Eddard Stark’s face which had made him seem far more than one year older than her. She remembered his deep silences and the way he would disappear into the godswood even after they’d become somewhat comfortable in each other’s presence. She could easily imagine this man risking much to protect any child of his blood. But had he truly put his own trueborn son at risk for the sake of this bastard child?

She swallowed hard. “Even so,” she said slowly, “the king’s affection for Lord Eddard should at least give him pause before he would cause him any harm. Lord Arryn is Hand to the King, and I know he will argue in my lord husband’s favor. I have sent a message to Lord Arryn though my sister . . .”

All three men started to say something at once, and she held up her hand. “No one can read it save my sister, Lady Arryn. We have a secret language of sorts, some childish foolishness that has now come to be useful. I did not know of my lord’s arrest until you spoke of it, but my sister had written to tell me that the king had threatened it. I have told her to go to Lord Arryn and make it clear that the North will stand behind Lord Eddard. We wish to remain loyal to the crown, but we will not see our lord slandered and unjustly condemned.” The men were all staring at her, and she bit her lip before continuing. “You have already fortified Moat Cailin as my lord instructed. We were stopped and questioned as we passed by there.”

“Of course, we have,” Benjen said. “We will hold the North securely.”

“Yes,” Catelyn said. “Of course we will. And if Lord Eddard is not released quickly, we should make certain that fact is known in King’s Landing. But we make it clear this is a defensive measure. We wish to take no action against our lawful king, but we will defend ourselves against unlawful aggression such as the arrest of my lord husband.”

Maester Luwin nodded thoughtfully. “Give Robert something to think about without giving him an excuse to attack us or to summarily execute Lord Stark.”

Catelyn caught her breath involuntarily at the words ‘summarily execute,’ and she saw Benjen Stark do the same, but she nodded.

“Your ideas have merit, my lady,” said Ser Rodrik in his gruff voice, speaking for the first time since he’d asked her if she’d heard what was being said about her husband. “But I fear you are not taking into account the vastness of the north. Our bannermen are spread widely over more leagues than any of your southron kingdoms. If we do not at least call the men together here, they will not be readily available to us in the event we do have need of them.”

She hadn’t thought of that. She had seen maps, of course, and had studied maps of the North rather extensively since learning years ago she was to be the Lady of Winterfell. Yet looking at the distances on a map couldn’t really convey the size of this land. Her journey from Riverrun had opened her eyes to that fact.

She nodded. “You are right, Ser Rodrik. We need to have men from all the castles and holdfasts here at Winterfell, both for the sake of readiness and that we might communicate with them more reliably than by raven.” She sat up very straight. “We shall order a feast.”

“A feast?” Benjen said, looking at her blankly.

“A feast,” she repeated. “A celebration to welcome the future Lord of Winterfell to the North. No one is likely to refuse an invitation in honor of the heir of Winterfell. And if word of our gathering men at Winterfell spreads southward, none could object to such a celebration even if they do suspect the true nature of it.”

“That’s brilliant!” Benjen exclaimed. “I say we do it. Just as Lady Catelyn says.”

“It will require a great deal of planning,” Maester Luwin said.

Catelyn looked at him levelly. “I am the eldest daughter of the Lord Paramount of the Trident, Maester Luwin. I daresay I have learned how to plan and host a feast. I shall leave the military strategizing to Benjen, Ser Rodrik, and yourself, and you can leave the food and revelry to me.”

Benjen grinned at her. “You heard the Lady of Winterfell,” he said. “Maester Luwin, I believe you have invitations to write. Ser Rodrik, could you speak with Vayon and start to plan what sort of accommodations we can arrange for our guests?”

After a few more moments of discussion, both the maester and the master-of-arms left the solar and Catelyn found herself being stared at by her goodbrother.

“I only asked you to join us for courtesy’s sake, you know,” he said. “I’d already decided to call the banners as soon as we heard of Ned’s arrest. I only waited because we knew you were on your way, and Maester Luwin said it was only proper to wait for you before acting on your husband’s behalf.” He grinned at her again. “I didn’t actually expect you to have an opinion.”

She smiled at him. “I have a lot of opinions, I’m afraid.”

“Good. When we get Ned back, I’ll tell him he needs to listen to them.” His face went from grinning to somber all at once, and his rapidly changing emotions brought forcefully to Catelyn once more that her goodbrother was little more than a boy. “You do think we’ll get him back, don’t you, my lady?”

“I do,” she said firmly. “And please, call me by my name. We are family now, Benjen.”

“We are,” he agreed. “I like that little brother of yours. How about we find him and then you can introduce me to my nephew.”

She smiled at him once more. “I’d like that.”

He stood then and offered his arm with a flourish. “Catelyn,” he said grandly. “If you would allow me.”

She stood and took his arm. “I hope Robb gets his looks from you,” he said as they stepped out into the corridor. “It would be rotten luck to have you for a mother and get stuck looking like Ned.”

She scolded him for saying unkind things about his brother and realized with a start that she already felt quite protective of this new goodbrother of hers. In a few short hours ‘Lady of Winterfell’ had gone from a title someone had given her to a very real part of who she was. She thought about the people she had met here and prayed she might be worthy of them.

Then she looked at the young man beside her who had been so easily reassured by her words and prayed even more fervently that she had not lied to him. _Please gods,_ she prayed. _Bring my lord husband home to Winterfell safely._ It occurred to her then that the people here prayed to different gods than hers, and she felt compelled to expand her prayer. _Please, you old gods and new, gods of my lord husband and gods my home, keep Lord Eddard well and safe and bring him home to his son, to his people and to myself._

Satisfied that this was a more suitable prayer for the Lord of Winterfell, Lady Catelyn Stark stood tall and straight as she walked through the corridors of the Great Keep on Benjen’s arm, determined that all of Winterfell’s people would soon know that Eddard Stark’s southron bride, this Tully of Riverrun, was indeed strong enough to meet with them any challenge the North must face.


	3. Eddard

Ned Stark had no idea how much time passed between Robert’s visit to his cell and the next surprising visitor. The hours and days were impossible to track in the impenetrable darkness. The guards (or perhaps it was always the same guard--he couldn’t actually see well enough to identify anyone) would open the door and fling stale bread or a flask of tepid water at him on occasion. He didn’t know whether this was done on any schedule or randomly as time had lost all meaning to him. He was given enough to keep him from dying at any rate, although nowhere near enough for him to maintain any amount of strength. It seemed to him that he was always dreaming now, the faces of those he’d already lost and those he feared he would now lose as well drifted ever before his eyes whether he woke or slept. Not that he could actually tell the difference between sleeping or waking any more.

He’d been dreaming of Riverrun, a rare pleasant dream of his lady wife’s hair falling down over him on their third night together. In spite of her uncertainty, she had moved atop him without hesitation when he’d lain back and guided her to straddle his hips. As they’d moved together then, he’d watched her lovely face take on an expression he’d never seen there before, and when she tensed and then collapsed onto his chest, he knew the sound she made was not one of pain. He could feel her there on his chest now, feel the fragrant blanket of that sunset colored hair draped over them both.

And then he heard her voice. “I will not be long. Wait here for me.”

That was wrong. She never said that.

“I will go in ahead of you, milady, to assure your safety.” A man’s voice. Ned’s mind struggled to make sense of it.

Light shone into his darkness causing him to shut his eyes tightly against the pain of it. He heard a sharp intake of breath. “Gods be good! Lord Eddard?”

The distressed feminine voice was so familiar and yet not quite right. He forced his eyes to open just a bit and saw two forms standing before him. The taller, broader one held a lantern high, and Ned blinked hard, moving his eyes to the smaller figure beside it which appeared little more than a dark shadow with long hair that shone copper in the lantern light.

“Catelyn?” he croaked. “My lady?”

“My sister is at Riverrun,” the figure said then, her voice sounding slightly less tremulous. “I’ve come to bring you something to eat, Lord Stark.” She appeared to hold something out toward him, a basket perhaps.

 _Lysa._ His sluggish brain finally clicked, providing her name and reminding him where he was. His lady wife’s sister was wed to Jon Arryn, Robert’s Hand. She’d obviously come to King’s Landing. _Riverrun,_ he thought, dread gripping his heart. _Catelyn and my son are not safe at Riverrun. They were to go to Winterfell._

“Jon,” he said then, forcing the word out in a hoarse voice that did not sound like his own. “Did Lord Arryn send you?”

“No!” the woman almost shouted. “My lord husband does not know I have come. I . . .I simply couldn’t live with myself if I did not offer some kindness to my sister’s lord husband, whatever you have done.”

She seemed nervous, but Ned couldn’t be sure. He still couldn’t see well, and in his brief acquaintance with Lysa Tully, she’d struck him as timid and rather sullen, although his own lady wife had confessed to him that her sister was less than pleased at the prospect of wedding a man older than her father.

“He obviously isn’t going to hurt me,” she said now to the man who held the lantern. “I don’t think he can even stand. Hang the light there and go out. I fear he’s so weak I’ll have to feed him, and it may take me a bit.”

“Milady, I . . .”

“Have I not paid you well enough? You were paid to bring me here, not question me,” Catelyn’s sister berated the man. “Do as I say now or I shall confess my foolishness to my lord husband. I’ll be forgiven my folly on account of a woman’s soft heart, but I doubt King Robert will be so quick to forgive your willingness to take my coin for this!”

“Yes, milady,” the man mumbled, hanging the lantern on the wall. He turned to go and shut the door behind him.

Ned’s eyes were adjusting better to the light, and he stared at the young woman in front of him. Lysa Arryn’s sky blue gown was mostly covered by a non-descript mud colored cloak, but the hood had come down revealing the hair so alarmingly like his lady wife’s. She did resemble Catelyn quite a bit, but she was younger--seven and ten, Ned thought--and her face had more of a petulant prettiness compared to her older sister’s rare, elegant beauty. “Lady Arryn,” he started.

“Hush,” she whispered harshly. “I have little time.” Much more loudly she said, “Just open your mouth for me, Lord Stark, and I’ll spoon this in. You’ll feel better for it, I’m sure.” She came toward him and crouched down to be more on his level, setting down her basket and thrusting a bowl of something from it into his hand. “Catelyn wrote to me,” she hissed. “She has taken your child to Winterfell.”

Ned felt the dread gripping his heart relax slightly.

“She had me tell my lord husband that the North will stand behind you whatever King Robert does here.”

Ned swallowed, “So Jon did send you here?”

“No!” she said again, a little bit more loudly. She took a deep breath and dropped her voice again. “Please, Lord Stark. Don’t speak, just listen.” She grabbed a spoon from her basket and filled it with some of whatever stew the bowl contained before shoving it into his mouth. “Lord Arryn would have you safe and see you and King Robert reconciled. He cannot come here or aid you in any way as the King has expressly forbidden it. But he did allow me to hear something I should not have . . .a name.”

She swallowed then and looked behind her with wide eyes as if she expected someone to come into the cell and grab her at any moment.

“A name,” Ned repeated.

She nodded. “The name of a man of whispers. A man who might have the means to free you from this place.”

“Jon would have me escape?” Ned asked her, startled.

She shoved another spoonful of stew into his mouth. “Jon would have you do nothing,” she hissed. “I have done it all myself. I only heard him speak a name. My lord husband knows none of this. Do you understand?”

Ned wasn’t entirely sure he did, but he nodded anyway, and Lysa Arryn looked a bit calmer after that. “When this man comes to you, do whatever he says. He will take you to my uncle.”

“Your uncle?” Ned asked, not understanding.

“My Uncle Brynden. He came to King’s Landing with me, but he hates it here. He doesn’t want to go back to Riverrun because he and my father . . .” She waved her hands in front of her as if to push away irrelevant matters. “It matters little. My lord husband has agreed to make Uncle Brynden the Knight of the Gate in the Vale, and he left several days ago to take up his new position.”

“But if he left . . .” Ned started.

Lysa Tully huffed and rolled her eyes. “Don’t speak, and don’t ask me questions.”

Feeling somewhat fortified by the stew, Ned grabbed the spoon from her hand before she could stick it in his mouth again and filled it himself this time.

“Just do what the man says when he comes,” Lysa said, looking over her shoulder again.

“How will I know this man?”

“Break your bread,” she said, holding out a small loaf from her basket. It looked to be much better quality than the stale crusts he’d been subsisting on, and he reached for it eagerly. It fell into two halves as he took it into his hand, and he saw that a name he recognized had been inked onto the soft inner surface. He could barely make it out in the dim light, but it was there.

“Are you sure of this, my lady?” he asked her.

“Make sure you eat all of that, my lord,” she said, her voice trembling slightly.

He took a large bite of bread, obliterating the inked portion completely. When he had swallowed, he looked gravely at this girl he barely knew, this girl he’d dismissed as shallow and selfish compared to her sister. “I thank you, Lady Arryn.”

“Thank Cat,” she said firmly. “I’m doing this for her.”

“She would not have you put yourself in danger,” he told her. He knew that was true. As badly as he wanted out of this cell, he could not risk putting his lady wife’s sister into it.

“I will not be in danger. My lord husband is Hand of the King. I carry his heir. No one will harm me. Everyone here thinks me too foolish and timid to suspect me, in any case. Cat is the clever one, the brave one.”

The girl’s face had clouded and she sounded suddenly bitter. She must have realized it because she looked at him intently. “I love my sister, Lord Stark. Sometimes I wish . . .” She shook her head violently. “She doesn’t deserve to be a widow,” she finished.

She stood up then, taking back the almost empty bowl and the spoon. “Eat all that bread,” she said loudly. “Do whatever he says,” she whispered. “And tell Cat . . .tell her I was brave, all right?”

With that, the Lady of the Eyrie walked to the cell door and knocked sharply on it. When the guard opened the door, she left without looking back. The guard took the lantern and followed her, leaving Ned alone in the dark with his half-eaten bread and tangled thoughts.

Once again, time became meaningless. The relative satiety provided by the little bowl of stew and fresh, soft bread gave way once more to gnawing hunger, and Ned began to wonder if Catelyn’s sister had been as much a dream as his fleeting images of Catelyn herself. Or of Lyanna or Brandon or Ashara or Father or the baby boy with Lyanna’s grey eyes or the baby boy whose face he’d never seen but always had Catelyn’s blue eyes in his mind.

He didn’t recognize the eunuch when he did come. At first, he was merely puzzled by the fact that the guard actually entered his cell instead of throwing hard bread at him. Then the man spoke. “Are you ready, Lord Stark?”

 _Varys,_ Ned thought. That had been the name written upon the bread. _Varys. Spider. Master of Whisperers._ Once in service to Aerys Targaryen and now in service to the man who had taken Aerys’s throne. Ned had very little first hand knowledge of the man as he had not lingered in King’s Landing after Robert’s arrival and the death of the Princess and her children. Yet he knew that rarely had a man been trusted less or used more by so many powerful people.

Ned swallowed and painfully rose to stand for the first time in gods knew how long. “What do I do?” he asked.

Varys smiled. “You follow me, if you can. If you cannot, I fear you must remain here.”

“I can walk,” Ned assured him.

That was very nearly a lie. He stumbled repeatedly as he followed the eunuch through the dim corridors beneath the Red Keep. To Ned’s surprise, they seemed to go ever deeper into the earth rather than toward the surface. At least three times he fell to the ground. Varys never assisted him to rise, but waited patiently without speaking. They passed no one, and Ned wondered at that. Finally, when Ned felt he could not go on much longer, they reached a tunnel where the ground sloped upward.

“This is your way, Lord Stark. I will leave you here.”

“Leave me?” Ned panted. “Where do I go?”

Varys pointed into the tunnel.

“Where does it lead?”

Varys gave him a look that stopped just short of being a smile. “Away.”

“And what shall I find at the end of it?”

The eunuch shrugged slightly. “What you seek. If you are fortunate. I bid you farewell, Lord Stark. Of course, I was never actually here.”

Ned stood there, leaning heavily against the earthen wall as he watched Varys turn and walk back in the direction from which they had come. Then very slowly, he turned himself and began trudging up along the tunnel. He had to stop and rest several times, but he only leaned against the sides of the tunnel, fearing that if he sat down, he would never get back up. He had no idea how long he’d been walking when he became aware of night sounds, the chirping of insects and croaking of toads. The air felt different as well. He rounded a slight bend and saw the silhouettes of tree branches ahead of him framed in the rough exit of the tunnel. He almost ran then until he found himself outside looking up at the stars.

He’d only been there a moment when he heard movement to his left. He realized that unarmed and malnourished, he could neither fight nor flee so he simply prayed whoever discovered him here was a friend. “Who’s there?” he asked softly.

“Is that you, Lord Stark?” came a smoky voice in reply.

“It is. Who are you? Show yourself.” Ned swayed on his feet, determined not to fall.

A tall, lean man stepped out of the shadows, and Ned nearly collapsed from relief. “Ser Brynden,” he said.

“Aye. I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Lady Arryn said you’d gone to the Vale.”

“Indeed I have, so far as anyone knows.” The man people called the Blackfish eyed him appraisingly. “Gods, man, you’re barely on your feet! Here.” He moved to support Ned with an arm around his waist. “Put your arm on my shoulder, my lord, and I’ll get you to the horses.”

“Horses!” Ned exclaimed with some relief.

“Aye. Though I fear I’ll have to tie you to yours,” the man grunted as he half supported, half dragged Ned off to the left.

“Where are we?”

“Outside the city, but not far enough outside for comfort, I’m afraid. We’d best put a good amount of ground behind us by sunrise.”

Ned nodded as he spied two horses hobbled among the trees just ahead of them. “I can ride,” he said grimly. “But you’ll likely have to help me onto the saddle.”

The older man nodded. Even in the moonlight, Ned could see that more of his hair was white now than on the day he’d taken the man’s niece as his wife, although he thought there still remained some of the auburn that marked him as a Tully. _First Lysa_ _and now Brynden,_ he thought, as he swung his leg over the horse’s back while Catelyn’s uncle supported him. _I am most indebted to my lady wife’s family._

It did feel good to be astride a horse again, in spite of his exhaustion and weakness. As the horse whinnied softly, impatient to be moving, Ned found himself in sympathy with it. “Where do we ride?” he asked Ser Brynden as the man swung up onto his own mount and brought it around to face Ned.

The Blackfish raised a bushy eyebrow and grinned at him in the moonlight. “You’re the Lord of Wintefell, aren’t you? We ride north!”


	4. Jon

“I will hunt him down! I will drag the man back here, Jon, and he will answer to me, so help me gods!”

Robert Baratheon thundered away, and Jon Arryn rubbed his temples, thinking not for the first time that ‘stormlord’ was a most fitting epithet for the black haired young man who paced back and forth as he shouted.

Jon only sat silently. Robert had been going on for more than half an hour now and hadn’t listened to anything he’d tried to say, so now he merely waited for this particular storm to run its course. He had no other option. As Robert continued to vilify Ned Stark, Jon found his thoughts turning to Ned. He hoped desperately that the other young man who felt more like son than ward to him was well away to the North. If only Ned could get beyond Moat Cailin before any of Robert’s pursuers caught up to him, he should be safe. The empty-handed return an hour ago of yet another of the men Robert had sent after him had prompted this latest fit of temper by the King.

 _The King._ Sometimes, Jon still found it hard to believe that his boys were now twenty--one the Lord of Winterfell and the other the King of all the Seven Kingdoms. He ardently wished he could simply send them each to their rooms until they both cooled down as he had any time they’d fought at the Eyrie. Sighing, he realized that was more or less what he was attempting to do now. Surely, time and distance would soothe Robert’s temper and mend his wounded pride just as it always had, even if the time and distance required were far greater now.

Robert could be a good king. Jon fervently believed that. He was a man of honor. He believed in justice. He rewarded men of worth fairly. He simply lacked interest in the mundane workings of government. That would come with time and maturity, Jon told himself, and he believed it most days. On other days, he feared that Robert’s penchant for self-indulgence and his tendency to allow his prideful temper to get the best of him had not lessened at all since he’d first known him as a boy. Ned had always been a calming influence on Robert, and Jon had been hopeful of convincing the quiet northman to spend at least part of each year in the capital, serving on Robert’s council in some capacity. He knew Ned well enough to be certain he would never leave Winterfell full time, but he had hoped . . .

“Don’t even pretend you aren’t happy about it!” Robert said suddenly, rounding on him.

“Happy about what, Your Grace?” Jon asked wearily.

“You bloody well know what! You want him to escape!”

Jon sighed. “I want Lord Stark safe and well. I want the two of you to work out your difficulties. I have not pretended otherwise, Your Grace.”

Robert beat his fist on the desk and Jon jumped involuntarily. “He lied to me, Jon! He would have hidden that Targaryen bastard away and never told me a thing about it!”

“He would never have put him on your throne, Robert,” Jon said softly.

“How can I know that?” Robert looked directly at Jon, anger and uncertainty mingled in his dark blue eyes.

Jon took heart from the uncertainty. “You know him. The two of you are brothers in all but blood. He . . .”

“Brothers!” Robert interrupted. “What use have I of brothers? Look at Stannis, for the gods’ sake! I need him at Dragonstone, Jon. You know I do, and all I’ve bloody heard of him is how unfair I’m being. Every look he gives me is filled with judgment! I pray that Renly grows into someone worthwhile because at this point I don’t think much of brothers whether by blood or by choice!”

Robert sat down heavily and put his face in his hands, and Jon realized he’d reached the more brooding portion of his angry storm. He could be reasoned with up to a point once he reached this stage.

“Your Grace,” he said carefully. “There are certain things we must discuss. Things of fairly urgent importance for the realm.”

“Can’t you take it up with the small council?” Robert asked impatiently.

“No,” Jon said. “I cannot fathom any way in which the small council can procure a legitimate heir for you.”

Robert sighed. “Not this again.”

“Yes, Robert, this again,” Jon said. “Lyanna Stark is dead. I know it is not the outcome you wished for, but it is the outcome you have. Ned saw her die.”

“He also says she has a son by that silver-haired bastard. Only first he said it was his bastard. So, how can I believe anything he says about Lyanna?” Robert said bitterly.

“He would never lie to you about her death, Robert,” Jon said softly. “Whatever else you believe of him, you know Ned loved his sister. And that he knows well that you loved her, too.”

“You would have me marry Tywin’s daughter, then?” Robert sighed. “The man asks for a great deal, Jon. Too much. And I know Arthur Dayne whispers to Doran Martell of this Targaryen babe. Heaping too many rewards upon Lord Tywin could sweeten Dayne’s words in the Dornish prince’s ears.”

“You needn’t give Lord Tywin everything he asks for, Your Grace,” Jon said to him. _Careful,_ he thought. _I must go carefully here. Robert will push back if he thinks I push him._

“I’m glad to hear you say it. I must do something to appease the Dornishmen now that Ned’s betrayed me and given them a Targaryen pretender to support.” Robert scowled again.

“Well . . .” Jon said thoughtfully. “Lord Tywin did not personally kill Princess Elia and her children. Demand that he hand over Amory Lorch and Gregor Clegane. In return, wed his daughter and make her a queen, and allow his son to remain in the Kingsguard.

“His son killed the king he was sworn to guard,” Robert stated flatly.

“A madman whom no one is sorry to see gone,” Jon countered. “Not even the Martells.”

Robert shrugged. “It matters little. Tywin won’t give up his men. He’s said as much.”

“And you’ve said he asks for too much. You must stand firm with him now or his demands will ever increase, Your Grace.”

“He knows I need him,” Robert said dismally.

“Yes. While there is discord in Dorne and you are in a state of near war with the North, you appear weak, Your Grace. And if it does come to war with the North, there’s Hoster Tully to think of as well.”

“Your goodfather? The old man wouldn’t dare.”

“Wouldn’t he? He’s Ned’s goodfather, too. And it was the Stark alliance he sought for so long.”

Robert thought for a long moment before shaking his head. “Even with the North, I need the Lannisters, Jon. There is strength in Ned’s frozen wasteland, to be sure, but precious little gold. I need Casterly Rock if I am to keep my coffers filled.”

“You do,” Jon said patiently. “But Lord Tywin doesn’t have to know how desperately we need his gold, now does he?”

Jon leaned forward to look right into Robert’s eyes. “You aren’t going to like this, Robert, but listen to me. Ned has been gone a week as near as we can tell. Since those guards apparently are less than diligent about checking those cells, we cannot be certain precisely what day he disappeared. We know he was there eight days ago because Lysa took him food.”

Robert made a disapproving noise at that, but Jon waved him off. “She has apologized for her indiscretion, Robert. He is her sister’s husband, you know, and Lady Catelyn’s letter upset her. In any event, Lysa saw him eight days ago, and the guard reported him missing six days ago. You have wisely kept this information relatively quiet.”

Robert made another noise. It had been Jon’s idea to make no public mention of Ned’s escape, and Robert had been difficult to convince of it.

“You’ve sent out five separate teams of trackers, three of which have already returned having found no sign of the man.”

“You are telling me things I already know,” Robert protested.

“Robert, you know as well as I do that if Ned reaches the North, he will be beyond your reach. If we do not hear from your other trackers within a very few days, I say we send out word that Ned Stark has been freed, that there is no discord between you, and that the Lord of Winterfell was the victim of vicious slander that has proven false.”

Jon could actually see the color rising in Robert’s face, and he waited for the explosion.

“He lied to me! He put my throne at risk!”

“So secure your throne,” Jon said quickly, pressing his advantage. “Wed the Lannister girl and put a legitimate heir in her belly. She’s a pretty thing, and the gods know you like pretty things, Robert! Wed the daughter, pardon the son, and give Dorne justice for Elia by demanding the heads of Clegane and Lorch. Go to Lord Tywin with this offer as soon as you announce Ned’s freedom, and he’ll see it as a show of confidence in your own strength. He’ll be much more likely to accede then.”

Robert sat quietly for once, looking at down at his hands. “You truly think Tywin will agree to all of this?” he finally asked quietly.

“I do,” Jon said assuredly. “He has wanted a crown on his daughter’s head since she was on her mother’s teat. He will take that prize and his son’s white cloak and be satisfied.” When Robert looked up at him skeptically, he twisted his mouth into a wry smile. “For now,” he added. “Men like Tywin Lannister are never satisfied for long, Your Grace. That is why it behooves you to tell him no to some little part while you can.”

Robert nodded. “And you think two heads will satisfy Doran Martell?”

“I do not know,” Jon told him honestly, “But those two will go further to satisfy him than no heads at all.”

Robert looked at him a long time. “Jon, you had nothing to do with Ned’s escape, did you?”

Jon sighed and chose his words carefully. “I had no part in it, Your Grace. I did not know he was gone until you did.” That was true enough. Lysa had done her work far better than Jon would have believed her capable of. He still did not know precisely how she had managed it. He did know that he’d as of yet received no word from the Bloody Gate about the arrival of his new Knight of the Gate, but that was a subject he carefully avoided with his lady wife.

“And your wife? She is a Tully, after all, just like Ned’s wife. She even admitted taking him stew and bread. Are you certain she had no part in this?”

Now, Jon had to choose his words even more carefully. He had no wish to lie to his King. “Why would Lysa tell us of her visit to the Black Cells if she had anything to hide, Your Grace? As soon as Varys learned of her visit from the guards and came to question her, she told him all she had done, even before she learned of her goodbrother’s escape.”

“She is still a Tully,” Robert insisted.

“She is indeed,” Jon agreed. “And as such, she knows her duty, Your Grace.”

“Ha!” Robert laughed bitterly. “I know the Tully words as well as you do, Jon, and the word Family comes first.”

“It does,” Jon agreed once more. “And I fear greatly for the health of my lady wife as she worries for her sister’s family. But, Robert, Lysa is with child once more. Our child is the family she concerns herself with most. She would do nothing to endanger the babe.” _That is true. If she had honestly feared for the welfare of the child, Lysa would have done nothing. Thank the gods that the only good thing my lady wife appears to believe of me is that my position affords her greater protection than it actually does._

“If I ever do speak to Ned again, I intend to ask him about it, and he’d bloody well better not lie to me!” Robert sighed. “Short of that, in this nest of vipers, I fear there is no discovering the truth. For all I know any one of the men investigating could be the man who engineered the escape.”

Jon decided it was more prudent to simply remain silent at that.

“A week then,” Robert said. “I will give it one more week. If Ned has not been recovered by then, we will proceed as you have outlined.” He stood up and walked several paces away. “But this is not finished, Jon,” he said through gritted teeth. “That bastard is still out there, and this is not finished between Ned and me.”

“No,” Jon said softly as he watched Robert’s tall form stride from the room. “I didn’t imagine it would be.”

He felt a great deal older than his years and more tired than he’d ever been as he slowly rose from his chair. He supposed he should tell Lysa what had transpired. He hoped it might please her. He never seemed to accurately guess what might please the girl. If Robert and Ned still seemed boys to him at times, his emotionally volatile young wife often seemed an absolute infant. Nothing he did seemed to please her, and he grew weary of trying to guess what she might want. Solidifying Robert’s rule took quite enough of his energy.

Oddly, in spite of the fact that they dared not discuss it at all, this business with Ned had been the most connected they had ever been in terms of working toward a goal, unless he counted the nights in her bedchamber which she obviously viewed as an unpleasant, but necessary means to an end. In securing Ned’s freedom, she’d honestly surpassed his expectations, and he felt she deserved to be rewarded. Surely, he could think of something that might please her.

As he made his way the Tower of the Hand, an idea occurred to him. She was forever on him about that Baelish boy, the one who’d been fostered at Riverrun. What was his name? Lysa swore he was a wizard with figures and seemed most anxious to have Jon give the boy a chance at a position. He must be young, no older than Lysa, Jon imagined, but surely he couldn’t do too much damage as long as someone was looking over the accounts. He did need someone in customs at Gulltown. Yes. He’d offer the Baelish boy the job. That should put a smile on Lysa’s face, and she had earned it. Perhaps, if she could be happier, this pregnancy might turn out better as well.

Jon felt suddenly more optimistic. Robert was reluctantly listening to sense. Ned was hopefully well on his way to safety at Winterfell. And he may have just come up with an idea that would actually please his little wife. He smiled to himself as he went to find Lysa and tell her that he had a position for that Baelish boy, Petyr. That was his name. Petyr Baelish.


	5. Catelyn

The two letters arrived within three days of each other. The one from her father had come first, and it had chilled her to read his words. Men from King’s Landing had indeed ridden to Riverrun, carrying the crowned stag of Robert Baratheon and requesting an audience with Lord Tully and his daughter, the Lady of Winterfell. Her father had opened the gates to them, fed them well, and behaved as if their visit was the greatest honor he had received in a long time. He had also expressed his deep regret that his daughter had long since taken her son home to Winterfell.

 _Deep regret._ Catelyn had almost smiled at those words in spite of her concern. Her father was certainly an honest man, but he could play a part as well as any mummer if the situation demanded. The men had not tarried long once it was clear that she and Robb were truly gone from Riverrun. Her father was quite convinced they had come to take her and her son to King’s Landing. He had insisted on sending a company of his own men to escort the King’s Landing men back east along the River Road until it met the Kingsroad, telling his guests that great hordes of bandits had taken to wandering the Riverlands during Robert’s Rebellion and not all had been apprehended as of yet. As Lord Paramount, he considered it his duty to protect the king’s men as they traveled through his lands. His men stayed at the Inn at the Crossroads long enough to ascertain that Robert’s men indeed turned south toward King’s Landing rather than north toward Winterfell.

That letter had disturbed her, but not actually surprised her. Today’s letter, however . . .

“Lady Stark, there you are!” Catelyn looked up to see her maid standing in the open doorway to the solar.

She laid the parchment down on the desk. “Do you need me, Etta? Is Robb already hungry again?”

“Oh, no, milady,” Etta said with the fond smile she always got at mention of Robb. “The little lord’s still sleeping like the wee angel he is. It’s Lord Benjen that sent me to find you. He said Lord Karstark’s party’s been sighted. They should be at the gates soon if you want to come down and greet them.”

“Oh, of course, I do, Etta. Thank you. Lord Karstark is the last, isn’t he?” Catelyn asked. Lord Umber, a man whose large stature and booming voice reminded Catelyn rather disconcertingly of the giant on his sigil, had arrived from Last Hearth the previous day, and he’d laughed to hear he’d beaten the party from the Karhold. Apparently, those two Houses had the furthest to travel.

“Yes, milady.”

“Thank the gods,” Catelyn muttered. Since the invitation had been to a feast, many of the lords had brought their lady wives and children with them as well as varying numbers of their men. The Guest House was full to bursting, there was scarcely a free room to be had in the Great Keep, and the tents of the men-at-arms formed a veritable city just outside the castle walls. Catelyn hoped there weren’t too many members in the Karstark party high born enough to require rooms within the castle because she was rather at a loss as to where to put them. She pushed her chair back from the desk and stood up. “Tell Benjen I’ll get my cloak and come right down,” she told Etta.

Hours later, the Karhold contingent was settled, and Catelyn sat once more in the solar, this time with Benjen, Maester Luwin, Ser Rodrik, and the steward, Vayon Poole. It had been decided that the truly elaborate feast in honor of little Robb would be held the following evening. Prior to the banquet, Ser Rodrik had arranged for some friendly competitions in archery and swordsmanship among the men. It sounded like nothing so elaborate as the big tournaments Catelyn was more familiar with, but the Winterfell men had assured her it was more than adequate for a gathering such as this in the North. Vayon had assured her all was in readiness for the banquet itself. Now, they only had to decide what to tell their guests of this new and perplexing letter from King’s Landing.

Talk of what had occurred between Lord Eddard and King Robert was rampant throughout the castle. While many of the more remote castles and keeps received even less information and gossip than Winterfell, Lord Manderly of White Harbor seemed to have heard any number of quite detailed reports about Lord Eddard’s actions and the king’s responses, although many of the reports contradicted one another. He was quite willing to discuss all of them with anyone who asked and seemed rather dismayed by Benjen’s and Catelyn’s reticence on the subject up to this point. Even Lord Manderly, however, did not seem to have heard anything like the news in this letter.

“We’ll have to address them all tonight, Benjen,” Catelyn said. “We cannot possibly put all of their questions off another day.”

“I know,” her goodbrother said. “I can’t walk ten paces without somebody grabbing at my arm and asking what it is my brother’s done, if he’s truly been arrested, if he has a bastard, or if he and Robert are going to war.” He looked at her helplessly. “They never stop, and I don’t know what to say!”

“I know, Ben,” she said softly. Truthfully, Benjen had it much worse than she did. She was stared at, whispered and speculated about, and generally made to feel as if she were some exotic plant brought in to be inspected and judged as to its value. But she was neither known nor trusted well enough by any of these Northmen for them to badger her with questions. That burden had fallen on Benjen, and he’d held up admirably since the very first guests had arrived. The boy’s nerves were visibly fraying, though.

“Do we believe this actually came from the king?” Maester Luwin asked. “Because whatever you had been planning to tell Lord Eddard’s bannermen, it would seem this might change it, my lady.”

Catelyn sighed. “The seal is his. I cannot imagine anyone else having any motive for sending such a thing. But I cannot fathom why the man would go to the trouble of arresting my lord husband and sending men after Robb and myself only to then release Lord Eddard with no real explanation.” She looked up at Maester Luwin. “I pray he is truly free, Maester, I do. But I can make little sense of this. The babe is not even mentioned.”

The parchment lay unrolled on the desk, but she did not need to look at it to recall the brief words written there. _By this document, let it be known that accusations leveled against Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell have been found without merit, and he has been given leave to return freely to his seat to take up his duties as Warden of the North. Done on the authority of King Robert Baratheon._

“Maybe Lord Arryn got him to see reason finally,” Ben said hopefully. “I’m sure he never believed Ned did anything wrong.”

“But why is there no letter from Lord Eddard himself?” Maester Luwin asked thoughtfully. “If the king freed him, I would have expected him to write to Winterfell immediately. He obviously feared for you and his son, my lady, or else he would not have written your lord father instructing that you be sent here. I cannot imagine his not wanting to assure himself of your welfare as quickly as possible.”

“I suppose Robert could have told him we’re at Winterfell,” Catelyn said thoughtfully. “The men who came to Riverrun might have sent word of that. But, still, I cannot imagine him sending us no word of his release at all.”

“But what of Lyanna’s baby?” Benjen asked then. “My brother would never hand over a child of Lyanna’s in exchange for his own freedom. I know he wouldn’t. And would the king free him if he didn’t? I thought that was why he imprisoned him in the first place!”

“We don’t know all the truth of Lord Eddard’s imprisonment,” Ser Rodrik put in. “We have only rumors of this babe. Perhaps there never was a babe, or perhaps it has been proved to King Robert’s satisfaction that it is no babe of Lady Lyanna and Rhaegar at all, but merely . . .” The man suddenly stopped speaking and looked at Catelyn uncomfortably.

Catelyn swallowed hard, but looked at Ser Rodrik directly. “Merely his own bastard, you mean. Certainly, such a child would pose no threat to the crown.”

“My lady . . .” Maester Luwin started.

“It is a possibility, Maester,” Catelyn said, keeping her voice as level as she could. “I am not so naïve as to believe a man might not seek the comfort of a woman’s bed when he is so long gone from his own.” She chewed her lower lip. “But something about this letter from King’s Landing just seems wrong.”

“What do we tell them tonight, Catelyn?” Benjen asked, sounding very young again. It almost frightened Catelyn how much he’d begun to defer to her judgment in the short time she had been here. She appreciated the trust but worried she might not be up to the responsibility of truly having authority here.

“We tell them we have had excellent news,” she said after a moment. “We tell them we know there have been many stories circulating of late concerning their liege lord, but that the only thing we could confirm for certain is that he had been arrested in King’s Landing. Now, we have received word from the king himself that these accusations were false, that Lord Eddard has been freed, and that he is on his way here now.”

“How do we know he is on his way here, my lady?” Ser Rodrik asked.

“Where else would he go once freed, Ser Rodrik?” Catelyn almost snapped. “We may harbor our doubts as to what this letter means, but we have no true reason to doubt the words set down. The only thing that makes less sense than the king inexplicably freeing my lord husband is his keeping him prisoner and lying about it.”

Maester Luwin nodded agreement with that sentiment, and Benjen quickly said, “Very well. We shall do as Catelyn has said.”

The Great Hall was filled to capacity that evening. _Beyond capacity,_ Catelyn thought, as she surveyed the large number of people at every table from her place next to Benjen. There was an expectant air about the place, and while it was certainly noisy, the multitudes of conversations seemed more hushed than one would have expected. Catelyn knew she was being stared at, and she became uncomfortably aware that she had chosen a blue dress. It was one of her simplest gowns, nothing gaudy about it, but it was still obviously southron in design and Tully colors to boot. _Fool!_ she berated herself. Looking at the ladies seated beside their lords, she realized her hair was wrong, too. She had not done anything elaborate with it, but even the fairly plain style she had chosen set her apart from every other woman in the Hall; every twist of her auburn tresses visually announced she was not from here. She did not belong here.

Benjen’s voice interrupted her self-recriminations. “Catelyn, I think you should speak to them.”

“What?” she asked him, startled.

“You are the Lady of Winterfell,” he said. “I’m the lord’s little brother. And . . .what Ser Rodrik said . . .I mean I don’t think that Ned . . .but I think it would be best if everyone heard you say that he’s been cleared of all accusations.”

Benjen looked down at his plate, and Catelyn fought down the feeling of panic at the mere thought of standing up to address all these fierce looking Northmen. “Benjen,” she said carefully. “Whatever is or is not true, your brother was never imprisoned for the crime of having a bastard. I don’t think that . . .”

“You’re the Lady of Winterfell,” Benjen insisted stubbornly. “And they’re your words we decided on. I won’t ever say them as well as you do.” He looked back up at her, and she could see the pleading in his eyes.

Swallowing hard, she nodded. “Very well. But you must stand first and call them to attention. You are not merely Lord Eddard’s little brother, Ben. You are the Stark in Winterfell.”

He smiled at her gratefully and stood up, clinking his spoon against his heavy ale cup. When the Hall became largely silent, he said in a loud clear voice, “On behalf of my brother Eddard, your liege lord, I welcome you all to Winterfell. We are pleased to have each of you here to welcome the Lady Catelyn Stark and the heir to Winterfell, my nephew Robb.” He smiled out at the crowd as he spoke of Robb. “Lady Stark has promised to have him at the banquet tomorrow night to properly greet you, but as he is still just a little young for formal functions, she thought it best to let him sleep this evening.”

A few people chuckled at Ben’s words, but more just kept staring silently at him, awaiting word of Lord Eddard. Ben cleared his throat. “But since Robb isn’t really much of a speaker yet, I’ve asked his lady mother to speak to you on behalf of her lord husband.” A slight rustle went through the crowd at that, and Ben turned to her and extended a hand to help her rise. “Lady Catelyn?” he said politely. As she took a deep breath and rose to stand beside him, he turned back to face their assembled guests. “Lords and Ladies of the North, I give you the Lady of Winterfell.”

He then sat down, and Catelyn found herself standing alone before her lord husband’s bannermen. Before she could think too much on it, she spoke, endeavoring to use her calmest, clearest, and most confident voice. “My lords and ladies,” she began. “I cannot adequately express my gratitude to each of you for traveling to Winterfell in order to welcome my son and myself to the North. I know you have all heard alarming tales concerning our Lord Eddard in recent weeks. I cannot speak to the truth of many of these, for like you, I have heard too much rumor and too little fact about most of it.” The room was deathly silent now. Whatever these people thought about her, they were most interested in what she had to say about this. “I will tell you what I know. I had a letter from my lord husband while I was still at Riverrun, obviously written in haste and not lengthy enough for much detail, in which he assured my lord father and myself that he had done nothing dishonorable and that he remained King Robert’s leal man. There were misunderstandings about, however, that he feared put him and others in danger. His primary concern was naturally the safety of the North and of his son and heir, and he gave instructions for safeguarding those as he attempted to clear his name with the crown. He was, in fact, arrested some time after sending that letter.” She smiled then, hoping to appear more confident than she felt. “But just today, we have received excellent news!” She held up the rolled parchment she had brought to the Hall for Benjen. “This letter from the king himself declares that all accusations against our lord have been found without merit. He has been freed, and is most assuredly riding northward even as we gather here.”

There was a moment of stunned silence, then a great cheer that sounded like a roar, and then questions began to be shouted at her. Just as she was trying to decide whom to answer, Vayon Poole, bless the man, sent servants carrying plates laden with food to all the tables. As if this were some sort of signal, Benjen stood back up and said clearly, “Let us eat and drink in celebration of my brother’s freedom. There will be time for more conversation on full stomachs!”

Gratefully, Catelyn sank back into her seat, closing her eyes for a moment in an effort to slow her racing heart. Benjen sat as well, and leaned over to her. “You were brilliant, Cat! Just brilliant!” he said enthusiastically, grabbing her hand. He must have seen her eyes widen at his use of her nickname because he quickly looked down and stammered, “I . .I’m sorry. I mean . . .Edmure calls you that all the time, and . . .it suits you, and I . .”

She laughed and squeezed his hand. “It’s fine, Ben,” she said. “It’s what my family calls me, and we are family now, remember?” Benjen looked visibly relieved and very happy with her response, reminding Catelyn suddenly of her little brother. It seemed her younger goodbrother sometimes needed her approval just as much as Edmure did, and she thought sadly that both of Ben’s parents and two of his older siblings were dead, and his one remaining brother had been gone a long time now.

The rest of the dinner passed in a bit of a blur. Several people came up to ask more specific questions about Lord Eddard, but they tended to address them to Benjen, who was far better at deflecting these than he gave himself credit for. Catelyn was immensely grateful when Etta appeared and quietly let her know that Robb needed her. She made her apologies to all those within easy hearing distance and escaped from the Great Hall as quickly as she could without running.

Back in her own chambers, she shook her head in dismay as Etta held up one gown after another for her inspection as she sat feeding Robb. “No,” she said. “They are all wrong, Etta. I only have two in any shade of grey, and both of those are . . .”

“Beautiful, Lady Stark. They are both lovely. I’ve never seen the like!” Etta gushed.

Catelyn frowned. “That is precisely the problem, Etta,” she said flatly. “Likely, none of the ladies visiting here have, either. I’m the Lady of Winterfell. It isn’t right that I dress like the Lady of Riverrun.” She shook her head. “I asked for those dresses to be made in Stark colors and of warmer materials than my other gowns, but I fear I had no guide as to the styling of them. Lord Eddard and his brother told me many things about the North, but . . .”

Etta laughed out loud. “I don’t imagine either of them could have told you much of ladies’ fashions. I don’t recall young Ned ever caring much about fashion of any kind, and as for young Brandon,” She laughed again. “He rather spent more time imagining what was under the ladies’ gowns, I think!” Suddenly seeming to recall that she was speaking to a woman once betrothed to Brandon Stark, Etta blushed a bright shade of red. “Oh, forgive me, milady! I meant no disrespect. I didn’t!”

Catelyn laughed. “It’s all right, Etta. I did meet Brandon, you know.” She shook her head again. “But I rather think the Northmen visiting with us, and their ladies even more so, are looking at my gowns. My fancy, southron gowns.”

Etta looked thoughtful, running her hand over one of the grey dresses now laid across Catelyn’s bed. “It seems a shame to take scissor and thread to something so pretty, my lady,” she said softly. “But this one is made rather simply beneath this lace, and my oldest girl is a wonder with needle and thread. She could remake it for you, if you like.”

“By tomorrow evening?” Catelyn asked, incredulously.

“Oh, certainly. And . . .” the woman hesitated a moment. “There are some of the Lady Lyanna’s things still about, even a few of Lord Eddard’s mother’s things. You could take some of those pieces, if you like . . .”

Catelyn shook her head. She couldn’t imagine what Benjen would think of seeing her in his recently dead sister’s clothing. As for wearing anything belonging to the former Lady of Winterfell, she would never presume to do anything of the sort without her lord husband’s expressed permission. “No, Etta, but I would be most appreciative of anything your daughter could do with my dress. Tell her she can alter it as much as she likes. The more northern it looks, the more I’ll be pleased.”

Etta nodded, but still looked rather wistfully at the dress as she picked it up and laid it over her arm.

“Etta,” Catelyn said, stopping the maid at her door. “Would you mind doing my hair tomorrow night?”

Etta looked surprised. She’d offered to wash and comb out Catelyn’s hair any number of times and Catelyn had always turned her down. Since her mother’s death, Catelyn had gotten in the habit of taking care of her own hair and Lysa’s, and honestly didn’t mind doing it herself. “You mean wash it for you, milady? Or do you want me to style it?” Etta asked cautiously.

“Style it. I’m perfectly capable of washing it myself, and like as not, you’ll have enough to do tomorrow.”

Etta shook her head, looking at Catelyn’s hair carefully. “I’m a fair hand with a comb, milady, but I’ve never done anything like that, and I . . .”

“That’s precisely the point, Etta,” Catelyn assured her. “If I wanted it done like this, I’d simply do it myself. I need a more . . .Northern hairstyle. None of the ladies in the Hall tonight looked anything like me. They stared at my hair as if it were . . .” She sighed. “They all know I’m no northerner. I’d like not to be any more different than I have to be.”

Etta smiled at her then, an almost motherly smile. “I’ll do your hair, milady. A simple northern pattern of braids will suit you nicely. But no lady in that Hall will look anything like you, whatever we do with your hair or your dress. You are a lot prettier than any of them, Lady Stark, and so they will stare.” She grinned rather wickedly then. “So will their husbands, and the ladies won’t like that, but that isn’t your fault, milady.”

Catelyn smiled at the older woman somewhat self-consciously, unsure of how to respond to her comments. “I think you flatter me, Etta, but I thank you. And I thank you for helping me with my gown and my hair.”

“It will be my pleasure, milady,” Etta assured her. She looked at Catelyn’s hair for a long time before turning again to leave. As she walked from the room, Catelyn was quite certain she heard her whisper something that sounded like, “kissed by fire.”

The next morning dawned bright and clear, and Catelyn briefly thanked the gods for at least granting the festivities of the day good weather. Whether she offered those prayers to the Seven or to the nameless gods of the North, she wasn’t sure. She had no sept to pray in, and the godswood always made her feel rather unsettled and out of place, so she most often prayed in her chambers, often invoking the Warrior or the Mother or the Crone, but other times desperately begging her lord husband’s own gods for his safe return and an end to their troubles.

People were up and about early, and soon all the courtyards of the castle were filled with men, women, and children participating in or watching the various competitions. Catelyn did her best to move from place to place, speaking to everyone and committing names and faces to memory as best she could. Shortly before midday, she was watching several men competing at archery when she felt a tap on her shoulder.

Startled, she turned to see Rodrik Cassel standing behind her with an odd expression and with his finger to his lips. She could never remember the man ever touching her without her permission before and the shock must have shown on her face. He looked apologetic, but then began moving away, indicating that she should come after him.

Suddenly frightened, she turned back to the competition and clapped politely along with the other spectators as a man from Barrowton hit the center of the target, which brought him even in score with one of the Glovers, whose first name escaped Catelyn at the moment.

As both men took time to select new arrows, Catelyn turned to Lady Dustin, who stood beside her. “Forgive me, Lady Barbrey,” she said. “But I fear I must go to the kitchens. I promised our steward I would check in with him before midday.”

Lady Dustin, one of the few women Catelyn had met here who was noticeably taller than herself, looked at her rather coldly. She’d been told by Benjen that the woman’s husband had been one of the men who stayed with Lord Eddard when the other Northmen came home. Apparently, nothing had as of yet been heard from him, and Catelyn thought perhaps that was where the woman’s hostility came from, although it seemed rather personally directed at herself. “I wouldn’t dream of keeping the Lady of Winterfell from her many duties,” the woman said now.

Catelyn smiled as if she hadn’t heard the venom in the other woman’s voice. “I do hate to miss the end of this match,” she said. “Good luck to your man. He’s an excellent archer.”

“He’s a hedge knight,” Lady Dustin said dismissively. “Young Robett Glover should be ashamed he hasn’t already taken him out.”

The Lady of Barrow Hall turned her attention back to the two men who were preparing to make their next shots, and Catelyn had the uncomfortable feeling she’d been dismissed in her own castle. She bit her lip hard to prevent herself from making any retort because she could still see Ser Rodrik standing some distance away and looking back at her impatiently. As soon as she began to walk toward him, he turned and walked away past the Library Tower in the direction of the kitchens, and Catelyn thought that was a good thing as it certainly made her lie more believable should Lady Dustin turn to look after her.

Ser Rodrik didn’t stop at the kitchens, however, continuing around them until she saw him disappear into the Maester’s Turret. Puzzled, she continued there herself, being stopped only twice by people wishing to pay their respects to her. As she entered the door of the turret, she nearly collided with Ser Rodrik who had evidently stopped just inside to wait for her.

“Forgive me, my lady,” the man said. “I did not want to answer any questions in front of others, nor have them question where I might be taking you.”

“But why have you brought me here, Ser Rodrik? What has happened?” Catelyn asked him, puzzled.

Before the man could respond, Catelyn heard an impossibly familiar voice call out from the staircase just behind her which led up to the maester’s rooms. “Little Cat!”

She whirled around in disbelief, and then hurled herself into the waiting arms of the man descending the staircase. “Uncle Brynden!” she cried. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s a long story, Little Cat,” he said, “But I’ve brought your husband to you.”

“What?” Catelyn shook her head slowly as if movement might help her brain make sense of her uncle’s words. “But we only received word of his being freed by the king yesterday! You can’t have come all the way from King’s Landing as quickly as a raven, Uncle!”

“Freed, my arse!” her uncle snorted. “If you call escaping the black cells and being chased by the king’s men being freed, I suppose. As for traveling quickly, well, pursuit will make a man ride a damned sight faster than he might ordinarily, but I’ll wager your raven left King’s Landing long after your Lord Eddard and I did.”

“I don’t understand,” Catelyn breathed, but even as she said it, the immediate importance of her uncle’s words began to sink in. “Lord Eddard is here? In Winterfell?”

“In this tower, lass. Just up the stairs. Your Maester Luwin is seeing to his wounds.”

“Wounds?” Catelyn cried in alarm. “What wounds? I should go to him.”

Her uncle merely smiled and stepped aside on the stair so that she could pass. She held her skirts up lest they trip her and hurried up the staircase as quickly as she could go until she reached Maester Luwin’s bedchamber. She heard voices from within, and she knocked on the door.

“Enter,” came a deep voice she had not heard in a year.

She took a deep breath and opened the door. Seated on the maester’s bed was her lord husband, wearing nothing but his breeches. The maester leaned over him and appeared to be doing something to one of his arms. He looked much thinner than Catelyn remembered him, and his face was drawn with pain and exhaustion. “My lord,” she breathed.

The man who was her husband looked up at her. “My lady,” he said. “You are here.”

He seemed almost disbelieving of the fact, and she walked a few paces toward him. “Of course, my lord. You directed that I bring our son to Winterfell, and so I did.”

“Our son,” he said then, and the way he said it made her feel strangely happy.

“Hold very still, Lord Stark,” Maester Luwin said then. “This is going to hurt quite a bit, I fear.”

Her lord husband drew in a sharp breath, and Catelyn found herself moving still further forward, drawn by a need to see what the maester was doing to the back of his arm. When she reached a place where she could see plainly, she gasped.

“Lady Catelyn,” the maester said. “This is not an easy sight, I know. Perhaps you should sit down over there.”

Catelyn steeled herself and replied, “I shall not faint, Maester Luwin. Lord Eddard is my husband. How might I assist you?” In truth, the sight of the maester’s fingers probing deeply within a gaping wound in the back of her lord husband’s upper arm, almost at the shoulder, had made her feel quite dizzy, but she refused to give into that feeling.

Maester Luwin gave her a long look and apparently decided she was not about to faint. “As you wish, my lady. If you could hold onto his hand, it may help him keep still. I must cleanse this area with strong spirit to help prevent putrification, and I fear it will be very painful.”

Catelyn shuddered. “Is that necessary?” she asked him.

“I am afraid so, my lady. This wound will take a great deal of time to heal completely, and I would not have it become putrid beneath my bandage.”

Catelyn wrinkled her brow. “Will you not sew it shut?” she asked.

The maester shook his head. “It is too old, Lady Stark. It would not do to close it with thread now.”

She looked at Lord Eddard who nodded. “I took a knife there when three men attacked your uncle and myself just south of Moat Cailin. Once we had dispatched them, I did not wish to delay our journey, and I had Ser Brynden simply bind the arm tightly. It served well enough.”

Maester Luwin’s expression indicated he did not necessarily agree but he said nothing.

“My lady,” Lord Eddard said softly. “You needn’t stay here for this. I can . . .”

“I wish to remain, my lord,” Catelyn said quickly. “Give me your hand.”

He hesitated only a moment before holding his hand out to her, and she grasped it between both of hers. Suddenly, she was very aware that he was shirtless and found herself made more uncomfortable by that fact than by the knife wound in his arm. _Don’t be such a fool, Catelyn Tully!_ She chided herself. _You’ve bedded the man and borne his child. You needn’t shy away from_ _the sight of his chest._ Yet, somehow, those few nights he’d spent in her bed at Riverrun now seemed very far away.

He actually screamed when Maester Luwin poured the spirits into his wound, and he gripped her hand painfully. She did not pull away, though. She tightened her own grip on him and murmured soothing words as she might offer Edmure when he’d suffered some hurt. She became vaguely aware that he’d leaned forward and that his head now rested against her as the maester worked, but he did not cry out again. When the maester at last had wrapped the arm in clean linen and announced he was finished, Lord Eddard leaned back and closed his eyes, his breath coming in short pants that finally eased as she watched him. He did not let go of her hands.

Finally, he opened his eyes. “I thank you, my lady,” he said, looking at her gravely.

“You are most welcome, my lord.” She waited, but when he said nothing else, she asked him, “But how do you come to be here?”

“You have not spoken to your uncle?”

“Only briefly. He said you had escaped the Black Cells. We had a letter only yesterday from King Robert declaring you had been freed. I do not understand, my lord.”

He sighed deeply and did let go of her hands then. “Likely Robert has realized he cannot easily get me back now that I have reached the North. I suspect he never made my flight public knowledge, and Jon Arryn would certainly have counseled him to accept my freedom.” He raised his right arm slightly and winced. “He tried damned hard to get me back before he agreed to it, though,” he said darkly.

“But how did you escape, my lord? How is it you come to be here?”

He actually smiled at her then, although the expression was so fleeting she though she might have imagined it. “I married a Tully,” he said. “Your House takes their words very seriously, my lady. Your sister, Lady Arryn arranged my escape. She managed to come to me and hint at what would occur. I suspect Jon had more to do with it than she let on, but she carefully avoided any implication of him.”

“Lysa?” Catelyn said, somewhat disbelievingly.

“Yes, my lady. She somehow got the Master of Whispers, the Lord Varys, to spring me from my cell and lead me to a tunnel which took me outside the city itself. There I found your uncle awaiting me, and the two of us rode here as quickly as we were able. Robert sent several teams of men after us. We’d managed to elude them all until the three just south of the Moat.”

“They tried to kill you?” Catelyn asked.

“No. I believe they were ordered to take me alive. They had no such orders regarding Ser Brynden, though,” he said grimly. “He’s a formidable soldier, your uncle, and I fear he gave them a far better fight than they expected. Between the two of us, we took down the first two men rather quickly. Unfortunately, the third man had remained hidden, and he leapt out with his knife drawn at Ser Brynden after the others were dead. Neither of us saw him until it was nearly too late.”

“You got in between them,” she said. “That’s how you took the wound.”

“I owe him my life,” Lord Eddard said simply.

She nodded. “But how did you get inside Wintefell with no one knowing?”

“Oh, there are some who know, but only a few, and I trust them to say nothing until given leave. Imagine our surprise as we drew near the castle and saw a veritable army camped out front. Not knowing what it meant, we made our way to the west, and waited until I saw men I knew ride out from the Hunter’s Gate this morning. We rode into the castle with them upon their return and came directly here.” He looked at her questioningly. “Why are all these men here, my lady?”

“They are here for a feast, my lord. In honor of your son.”

He raised his brows. “You are holding a feast, my lady?”

He said it as if shocked that she was spending time on such frivolous activities since her arrival in Winterfell, and that made her angry.

“You had been arrested, my lord. Your brother and Ser Rodrik were about to call the banners and send us back to war. I thought that a bit rash. We needed your bannermen here should it come to that, but I saw no need to give the crown reason to hear we were planning a war just yet. A feast to welcome your heir to Winterfell gave us an excuse to gather the Northern lords.”

He looked at her a long moment. “That was well done, my lady.”

“Why were you arrested, my lord?” she asked then, her flash of irritation that he’d thought her interested in revelries rather than strategy making her brave.

He looked down then. “What have you heard?” he asked her.

“A number of things. I would prefer to hear the truth.”

Maester Luwin cleared his throat then, reminding them both of his presence. “Lady Stark,” he said. “I believe Lord Stark should rest now. And you should get back to our guests, my lady. I fear they will take note of your absence if you are too long gone.”

“I would have my lady wife stay a moment, Maester Luwin,” Lord Eddard said firmly. “You may go, though. I promise I will rest a bit after I finish speaking with her.”

The maester nodded to them both, and left the room.

“The truth,” he said when the maester had gone. “I fear the truth can be a dangerous thing, my lady.”

“I am not afraid,” she said, knowing that wasn’t entirely true.

“No,” he said. “Lady Arryn said that you are the clever one and the brave one.” A smile once more flickered briefly at his lips. “She asked me to tell you she’d been brave. When she came to my cell.”

Catelyn smiled herself as she thought about Lysa, sneaking into some dismal cell beneath the Red Keep. “My sister is braver than she gives herself credit for,” she told Lord Eddard. “In fact, it is her rashness that I worry might bring her to trouble rather than her fears, my lord. But we are discussing the reason for your arrest.”

“Robert believed I conspired with Arthur Dayne to put a child of Rhaegar Targaryen on the throne. I did not.”

“What did you do, my lord? Surely, something gave the king that idea.”

“Damned Arthur Dayne gave the king that idea!” Lord Eddard exclaimed, sounding truly angry for the first time. “I spared the man’s life, and he . . .” He shook his head and went silent for a moment, his eyes far away. When he looked back to her, he said softly, “I never intended the truth to be known.”

“What truth is that, my lord?”

“Rhaegar Targaryen got a child on my sister, Lyanna. A son. The boy’s looks are entirely Stark. I couldn’t see a thing of that cursed prince about him.” He swallowed hard, but met her eyes. “I intended to claim the child as my bastard, conceived during the war. I meant to bring him here and raise him at Winterfell.”

Catelyn felt cold. “You would have named him yours and raised him alongside our trueborn son? Alongside your heir? Here at Winterfell?” Such a thing was not done with bastards, and she could think of no reason why the man would do it for a bastard he didn’t even father.

“I promised my sister I would keep her son safe. She knew well enough that Rhaegar’s other children had been murdered, and she knew that Robert had approved it whether he ordered it or not. I intend to keep my promise, my lady. The boy will be kept safe. I thought having him live here as my natural son would be the best way to accomplish that.”

Catelyn hesitated to speak for a moment for she did not want her voice to shake and feared that it would. “And what would you have told me of the child, my lord?” she asked him.

He looked down and said nothing.

“You would have lied to me,” she whispered.

He looked up and met her eyes then. “I promised her, my lady. The child would have been far better protected by my silence.” He hesitated. “You and our son, as well, if I did not make you party to my treason.”

“Oh yes, my lord,” she said, feeling anger rising at his words. “Robb and I would have been far better believing ourselves of less import to you than some bastard gotten on a camp follower.”

“Catelyn,” he said, the word sounding like a plea. It was the first time he’d used her name since she’d entered, but while it gave her pause, she did not allow herself to soften toward him. She had done nothing but follow his directives and do all in her power to safeguard his son and his home, and he sat there telling her calmly of his plan to deceive and shame her for the sake of his sister’s bastard.

“You had no right, my lord,” she said coldly. “To even consider deceiving me in such a manner. I am your wife. I know you did not want me. Perhaps you even wanted another, but I am the wife you took, and I will bear your children and do your bidding, but I deserve at least your respect.”

“By the gods, my lady, you have that! I . . .” He looked truly distressed as he searched for words then. “I barely know you, Catelyn.” Those words were barely a whisper. He gazed directly into her eyes then. “I have thought often of our wedding, my lady, and our few days . . .and nights . . .together. I cannot even speak of what I felt when you wrote you carried our child. I very much looked forward to returning to you. I . . .want to be with you and know you more. I want to know our son.” He shook his head. “But we are still little more than strangers to each other, my lady.”

“And so you couldn’t trust me,” she said quietly. “You could not be sure of me.” He did not reply, but he did not look away, either. She forced herself not to pull her own eyes away from his gaze. “You have said yourself that you owe your freedom to House Tully. My sister and my uncle risked much for you, my lord, for no more reason than that you are wed to me. Family, Duty, Honor. We do take our words to heart. On the day you placed that direwolf cloak on my shoulders, you became my family, Lord Eddard. My duty is to you as my husband, and I certainly have enough honor to do my duty. If you know nothing else of me, I would hope you know that.”

He continued to look at her in silence for what seemed like a long time before he finally nodded almost imperceptibly. “I do know that, my lady.”

“Then you will tell me the truth now? Where is this child? Where is your sister’s bastard?”

His eyes moved away from hers briefly then, flicking toward the door to make certain it was closed.

“I hope he is in Greywater Watch,” he said softly. “When we received word that Robert sought to arrest me, I sent him with Howland Reed. He can be kept hidden in the Neck. Not even I can find Greywater Watch without Howland or one of his men to guide me.”

“What of your other men?” she asked. “The ones who rode after Lady Lyanna with you.”

A look of bitter grief appeared on his normally stoic face then. “Dead,” he said gruffly. “All dead. We fought three of the Kingsguard at the Tower of Joy, and only Howland and myself survived.”

“Poor Lady Dustin,” Catelyn murmured, thinking of the angry woman watching the archers.

Lord Eddard nodded. “I must speak with all the men’s families. I told Ser Rodrik of his brother, Martyn. I gave him leave to go and speak with Jory once he found you.”

 _Dutiful Ser Rodrik,_ Catelyn thought sadly. The man had just learned of his own brother’s death and had spoken not a word of it to her. He’d simply brought her to his lord as he’d been asked to. She looked at the man on Maester Luwin’s bed. She looked at his emaciated frame, the large bandage on his arm, and his long, grave face which appeared even more haunted by ghosts now than it had when they’d wed at Riverrun. _My husband,_ she thought. _This man is my husband._

“Lord Eddard,” she said. “N . . .Ned,” she corrected herself hesitantly. He’d asked her to call him that at Riverrun, and now she was rewarded for doing so by the barest flicker of a smile on his lips. “I would ask one thing of you now, if you would grant it. Will you swear to me that you tell me all of the truth now? Or if you cannot, will you at least tell me that you must keep something from me, rather than simply lie to me?”

As she spoke the words, she realized that his answer was very important to her. She had not wanted to wed this man, but then thought their marriage held some promise by the time he’d left her at Riverrun. She’d been frightened of the North, but had finally begun to feel like the Lady of Winterfell as she worked with Benjen and his advisors here. She’d thought perhaps this place could become a home for her and for the northern children she would bear. Now she felt as if she’d been knocked off balance again, and that Eddard Stark’s words to her now might have the power to topple her over or help her stand straight once more.

“Go to the door, my lady,” he said after a moment of what appeared to be careful consideration.

She looked at him, not understanding.

“Please, Catelyn. Open the door and make certain no one stands outside.”

Still confused, she did as he asked. Closing the door once more, she returned to stand beside the bed. “There is no one, my lord.”

“The child is no bastard,” he said quickly, in a voice so low that Catelyn almost couldn’t catch the words. “Rhaegar Targaryen wed my sister as a second wife. My nephew is his legitimate son.”

Catelyn’s breath caught. “How do you . . .?”

“Arthur Dayne told me of the wedding. Lyanna called her son Rhaegar’s heir before she died.”

“But that would mean . . .”

“It means nothing,” Lord Eddard said firmly. “I do not believe there is any proof of this marriage other than Ser Arthur’s word. I do not intend ever to speak of it. Not even to Benjen. I will simply say the boy is Lyanna’s and leave it at that.”

“You would take from him his . . .”

“I would take nothing from him!” He almost shouted then, but Catelyn sensed his anger was not at her. “We did not go to war to replace Aerys with Rhaegar or any other Targaryen. Once the course was set, the removal of all the Targaryens was the only possible outcome.” He sighed. “The Iron Throne is Robert’s and I wish him joy of it. For Lyanna’s child, I can only hope to give safety and some measure of happiness far away from the tragic beginnings of his life. There is nothing else I can give him. Nothing else that does not lead back to war.”

He sounded so sad and weary. Singers made great songs of war, and people thrilled to hear them. Young men often seemed to lust for war as they did for women. She’d heard plenty of talk about battle and glory throughout her life. Yet, she thought this husband of hers liked war no more than she did. He was brave, certainly, and would do his duty with honor. But she knew with great certainty in that moment that he would be well content never again to ride out from Winterfell to make war.

“I will abide by your wishes, my lord,” she said simply. “I will speak nothing at all of your sister’s bastard without your leave.”

He nodded then, seeming to understand by her use of the word ‘bastard’ that she intended to keep his secret.

“I would like very much to see my son, my lady,” he said then, changing the topic of conversation abruptly.

She smiled genuinely for the first time since they’d begun to speak of the other boy. “The maester wants you to rest, my lord, and I could not bring him here now without giving rise to questions in any event. But I will find a way to bring him to see you before I take him to the banquet tonight. You should sleep now, and I promise to return with your son.”

He shook his head. “I have no intention of hiding in my own castle, my lady. I am finished with all this. I will sleep now, but I will attend this banquet tonight.”

“My lord! We only just received the raven from King’s Landing! How shall we explain your quick arrival? And your . . .” she looked at him apologetically. “Appearance.”

He waved his good arm dismissively. “They all know I’ve been imprisoned. It won’t surprise anyone to see me looking thinner. And clothes can hide a great many things. It is well known I don’t care for dancing, so none shall take it amiss if I only sit quietly. As for your raven, well, ravens have been known to go astray. Perhaps the King’s first letter was lost, and this one only sent when he became puzzled by your lack of response.”

“That would be feasible,” she said thoughtfully.

“Will you have our son in your chambers?”

“Yes. He stays with me. I mean . . .” she felt herself blush and wished she could stop it. “I have kept him with me because it is easier for me to feed him when he’s close, but I could have him moved to the nursery if you prefer.”

“No,” he said. He looked at her closely again, and his grey eyes were unreadable to her. “I like that you have kept him close. I will come to your chambers before the banquet then, my lady. I have told Maester Luwin I want to see my brother, and then I shall sleep until the evening. I fear I am very tired.”

“Very well, my lord.” Catelyn curtsied to him rather formally and then left the room. As she descended the stairs of the Maester’s Turret, she found herself reeling somewhat both from her lord husband’s unexpected arrival and from the conversation they had just had. She wondered what the evening would bring. She wondered what the future would hold for Robb and herself here in Winterfell with this solemn faced northern lord.


	6. Eddard

Ned Stark hesitated outside the door of his lady wife’s chambers. The walk from the Maester’s Turret had been rather excruciating as he made a point of letting his right arm hang down at his side and attempted to swing it in a natural fashion rather than holding it still. The formal shirt and doublet were somewhat loose on him at the moment, but that allowed them to fit over the bulky bandage and conceal it well enough. He and Benjen had been stopped three times on their way here by men who’d recognized him and greeted him with rejoicing and questions. He’d responded briefly to each that indeed he’d been freed much earlier than anyone realized, that he was most pleased to have all his bannermen here, and that he’d give a more detailed report to everyone at once at the banquet. Then he’d excused himself by pleading his desire to meet his son.

By the time the banquet actually started, everyone in Winterfell would know he was here, but that was a good thing. He had already planned what he would say to them, and felt little trepidation at the prospect as it could not possibly be more difficult than facing the families of Mark, Ethan, and Willam. He’d had Ben bring them to him as soon as they’d gotten him dressed and looking halfway presentable. The Glovers and Ryswells had been obviously grief-stricken, but had taken the news stoically enough. Lady Barbrey Dustin had remained stoic as well, but the look she had given Ned had been one of pure hatred. She obviously blamed him for Willam’s death. Of course, Ned blamed himself for it as well. The mountain clans had not come to Winterfell for this feast, so he still had to get word to clan Wull about Theo. Standing in the corridor outside Lady Catelyn’s chambers, Ned strove to clear his mind of all that, and he closed his eyes against the image of Lady Barbrey’s unforgiving eyes glaring at him even as her father, Lord Ryswell, had escorted her from the maester’s chamber.

He could not as easily forget the image of another lady’s angry eyes, though. He’d pictured those beautiful blue eyes countless times over the past year, but he hadn’t remembered what looking into them was actually like. A man could drown in their blue depths and be glad of it. Yet, those tranquil blue pools also served as windows to his lady wife’s every emotion, and he’d watched them flash with anger at his words to her today. He supposed she’d had a right to that anger, but he hoped desperately it had dissipated some since she’d left him.

He swallowed hard, feeling foolish for lurking outside her door. He was the Lord of Winterfell, after all. He should hardly fear to approach his own lady wife in his own castle. Yet, he feared seeing more anger and hurt in those eyes. He had no wish to make her unhappy. Ben had raved about her ceaselessly, seeming to be more excited about her coming to Winterfell than Ned’s return. Apparently, she had impressed everyone here rather quickly, settling in as Lady of Winterfell with confidence and competence. That didn’t surprise him. He was proud of her, and he didn’t truly begrudge her his brother’s admiration.

No, he rather envied his brother for the easy and affectionate way he spoke of her. It would seem they had already established a warm familial bond between the two of them, the kind of warmth Ned would like to share himself with his beautiful and capable wife. Yet, immediately upon returning to her, he had only given her reasons to think ill of him. He wondered if he could undo that damage. He wondered how she would greet him when he opened this door.

Ben had left him when they’d entered the Great Keep. Certain that Ned would want time to visit with his wife and son alone, his brother had gone in search of his wife’s younger brother who had apparently accompanied her to Winterfell. It seemed Benjen had managed to strike up a relationship with the young Tully heir as easily as he’d gotten close to Catelyn. For a brief instant, Ned wondered bitterly why all three of his siblings had always seemed to find getting to know other people so much easier than he did. That thought came dangerously close to self-pity, however, and as that was something Ned did not allow himself to indulge in, he banished it.

Irritated with himself and actually embarrassed by the time he had now spent standing at this door without knocking, he suddenly brought up his left hand and rapped on it rather more forcefully than necessary.

“Come in,” came his wife’s voice.

He opened the door and saw her seated at the dressing table with her back to him, but he could see those blue eyes looking at him in the large looking glass in front of her. Etta stood beside her, doing something to her hair. He drew in his breath at the sight of it. Her long, auburn hair cascaded down her back, most of it falling loosely in lazy waves, although several small braids were twisted back from her face, coming together at the back of her head. He had an almost uncontrollable urge to step forward and run his fingers through the shining strands.

Etta stepped away from her, and she stood up, turning to face him. “My lord,” she said. “You look very fine this evening.”

He swallowed, staring at her. He could now see what Etta had been doing. A small number of tiny blue rosebuds were fixed into the braids where they came back from her face. Blue roses had become the stuff of his nightmares of late, as they always reminded him of that damned crown Rhaegar had put on his sister’s head, but all he could see now was the way they brought out the blue in Catelyn’s eyes, somehow making the bluest eyes in all the world look even bluer. She was wearing a simple grey gown which highlighted her full breasts and small waist. The sleeves and the hem of the skirt were embroidered with direwolves. She looked every inch the Lady of Winterfell--or even some beautiful Queen in the North from some ancient tale. He was speechless.

“Lord Eddard,” the maid said then, kneeling to him. “It’s good to have you back in Winterfell.” She looked up at him then, and her eyes twinkled with wicked amusement, “Even if it appears you’ve forgotten how to speak.”

The woman was practically laughing at him. Ned cleared his throat. “It’s good to see you as well, Etta, and to know you haven’t stopped speaking whatever comes into your mind.” Even as the maid snorted in response, Ned was painfully aware that his lady wife still stood there looking at him, and that he hadn’t returned her greeting. He turned his eyes back toward her and saw that her cheeks were colored red. Apparently, she’d been aware of his staring at her.

“You look very lovely tonight, my lady,” he said formally. “I don’t think we need worry about anyone scrutinizing my appearance for no one shall be looking at me.”

Catelyn’s cheeks colored a bit more at that, and he felt ridiculously pleased that his words could make her blush so prettily.

“None of the men will look at anyone other than Lady Stark, at any rate,” Etta put in, spoiling his little moment of pleasure. He realized he didn’t want other men staring at his lady wife the way he was.

“You are too kind, my lord,” Lady Catelyn said then. “Would you like to see your son now?”

 _My son._ He realized with a start that his wife’s appearance had driven thoughts of his son completely from his mind. Now, though, he almost trembled at the thought of actually seeing this babe who had existed only in his mind for so long. “Yes,” he said. “I would like that very much.”

She smiled at him, and walked to a cradle he hadn’t even noticed beside the large bed. Bending over, she reached into it and picked up a sleeping infant. The first thing Ned saw was a covering of soft fuzz the precise color of Catelyn’s on a small head, and he smiled widely. “He looks like you!” he exclaimed.

Some fleeting expression crossed her face at those words. It looked like apprehension, but he couldn’t imagine why that would be. She stood up straight and held the babe out to him. “Your son Robb, my lord. He may have Tully looks, but I am certain he will prove himself a true Stark lord, like his father.”

He barely registered her words at first. As he reached out to take the child, he felt as if his heart had suddenly been opened up, as if a great part of it had been suddenly removed from his body and placed within this little boy. “He is beautiful, my lady,” he said. His voice sounded oddly thick to his own ears, and he hoped it didn’t sound so strange to hers.

He pulled at the blanket wrapping his son, wanting to see more of him. Lady Catelyn, realizing what he wanted, reached out and unwrapped the child with deft fingers. Her hand brushed his own as she worked, and he had an odd desire to reach out and grasp it, to be holding onto his son and his wife together. Unwrapped, the boy started to stir in his arms, and he looked up at his wife helplessly.

She laughed. “It is all right. It’s time for him to wake. You won’t break him, my lord. If you hold his head up more, he’ll open his eyes for you.”

Fascinated, he held the child out in front of him and looked at his little face. The eyes indeed opened, and Ned caught his breath. The little eyes regarding him with sleepy curiosity were indeed the same blue as the boy’s mother. “Your eyes,” he breathed, fascinated by his son’s perfection.

“Yes,” he heard her say quietly. “They are blue like mine.” She sounded almost disappointed, and suddenly he actually realized what she had said before.

“Catelyn,” he said, looking up at her and intentionally calling her by her name. “I would have him no different, my lady. I’ve imagined him often since I heard of his birth, and I always imagined him with your eyes. Of course, he is far more beautiful than my feeble imaginings. He is perfect, my lady.”

She was the speechless one then, simply looking from him to their son with a mixture of relief and intense pride painted on her lovely face.

“Milady,” Etta said softly. Ned had forgotten she was there. “I think we are finished with your preparations. I couldn’t make you prettier if I tried. If you have nothing else for me . . .”

“No, Etta,” Catelyn said, smiling at the maid. “You have done everything I could possibly have asked of you. Thank you very much. Since we’ll be taking Robb to the Great Hall with us, I shan’t need you until I bring him back to his bed.”

“I’ll stay near to the Hall once the banquet starts, milady. Just in case.”

“Thank you, Etta.”

“Thank you, Etta,” Ned echoed. “It would seem you have taken good care of my lady wife and my son for me.”

“It’s been my pleasure, Lord Eddard,” the woman said, smiling at Catelyn rather than at him. When she turned to him, she gave him a look that was almost challenging. “You’ve done well for yourself, Young Ned,” she said, using the name she’d called him as a very small boy. “I hope you realize how well.” Then she bowed quickly and left Lady Catelyn’s chambers.

He must have been frowning after her because his wife quickly said, “I am certain she meant no disrespect, my lord.”

“What? Oh, Etta. No, she did not. She cared for me just as she does Robb here, so she’s grown accustomed to treating me like her child at times over the years.” He smiled at his lady wife. “I am glad Benjen thought to have her be your personal maid. She’s one of my favorite people.”

“You are one of hers, as well,” Catelyn responded.

“It would appear you are as well, my lady. You seem to be garnering quite a loyal following here at Winterfell.”

“Everyone has been very kind,” she said simply.

Robb chose that moment to let out a sudden wail, nearly startling Ned into dropping him. The boy was surprisingly strong, and as he began thrashing his arms and legs, Ned found him rather difficult to hold on to, particularly with his injured right arm.

Catelyn was there in a flash, though, taking him into her own arms. “He is hungry, my lord. It’s nothing you did.”

She immediately sat down and began opening the front of her gown. Realizing what she was about to do, Ned felt very uncomfortable, and turned awkwardly away from her. “Should I . . .should I go, my lady?”

She laughed again, and Ned remembered just how much he had liked the sound of her laugh at Riverrun. “Of course not, my lord.”

When he turned around again, he found her looking up at his face. “Robb is your son, and I am your wife. I am only feeding him.”

He nodded and sat down in a chair himself, rubbing his right arm absently.

“Does the arm pain you much?” she asked.

“It hurts like the devil,” he said honestly. “But I can stand it.”

He tried to look only at her face, but found his gaze drifting down to the sight of their red-headed little son sucking vigorously at her teat. The sight was indescribably beautiful to him, and yet it made him feel somehow very strange. He felt more possessive of the two of them now than he’d ever felt of anything in his life, and he wanted to protect them and keep them safe more than he’d ever wanted anything. He would murder anyone who harmed them.

She looked up again from their son and caught him staring. He couldn’t imagine what his expression was like, but her eyes darkened slightly, and she asked, “Are you all right, my lord?”

“I am more than all right,” he said, not certain how to put what he felt into words, or even if he wanted to. “It is simply . . .we made him. And he is perfect.” There was more to it than that. Watching them together made him think about how she had carried him in her body and brought him into this world all while he was so far away. And here she was now, still nourishing him from her body as he sat there simply watching them. “I . . .thank you for my son, Catelyn.”

She looked at him a moment, a tender expression on her face. “You are welcome, my lord,” she said finally. “I thank you for him as well . . .Ned.”

She hesitated over his name, as she always did, and he prayed that one day it would fall from her lips easily.

The banquet was a joyous occasion, but a bit of a trial as well since Ned was assailed by questions from everyone there. He spoke briefly, stating that Lyanna had given birth to a son during her time away, and that the child would be raised in the North as was proper for any child of a Stark. He did not mention Rhaegar by name, but of course all there knew the child could have no other father. If he didn’t speak of him, however, he didn’t have to say anything about the alleged marriage. He only said that he did not and would not ever attempt to take the Iron Throne from King Robert for that child or for anyone else, but that Ser Arthur Dayne had circulated a story causing some to believe that he might do just that. King Robert had been forced to arrest him in order to publicly investigate and put to rest such rumors.

When Rickard Karstark had asked pointedly where the child was now, it had been his lady wife who’d spoken when he hesitated. “Lord Karstark,” she’d said. “Ser Arthur still tells his tale to any who will listen. My lord husband would rather not have his nephew sought after for use as a political tool by those who would act against our king. The boy is safely hidden away, and there he will remain as long as there is anyone who would ill use him. I do not ask where he is, and you should not, either.”

“You believe Lord Stark should not trust me, my lady? I am a Northman, after all.”

 _Unlike you,_ Ned had clearly heard the man’s unspoken words, and he’d had no doubt that his wife heard them, too, although she chose to ignore the discourtesy.

“Of course, he can trust you, my lord,” Catelyn had said convincingly enough. “He can trust every lord here. The loyalty of the Northern Houses to the Starks of Winterfell is legendary. Yet, he can hardly tell one of you without sharing it with all, and a secret known to all of the North is not a secret at all, is it? My lord husband is well aware of the sacrifices you and everyone here made when you marched south to avenge Lord Rickard and Brandon. Would that the Lady Lyanna could have been rescued from her captors, but at least we can honor her memory by letting her child grow up safely in secret.” She gave the man a charming smile, and while Karstark merely scowled, Lord Umber who’d been near enough to hear had roared approvingly. No doubt, he’d repeated the story to everyone in the Hall by the banquet’s end. In any event, no one else had asked him anything concerning Jon’s whereabouts.

Everyone was suitably impressed with little Robb, who was remarkably well-behaved. Catelyn held him in her lap faced outward toward the assembly and he simply looked around at everyone with his bright blue eyes, smiling occasionally. The first time Ned had seen that toothless smile, his heart had done a sort of flip. When Benjen had gotten him to laugh out loud, it had flipped again. Catelyn had informed him the laugh was one of Robb’s newest accomplishments, and Ned found himself disappointed at having missed his son’s first laugh and determined not to miss any more firsts.

Catelyn’s brother Edmure ran around the Hall rather wildly with several other boys of similar ages, and Ned suspected that Benjen was sneaking the boys rather more ale than was good for them, but he wasn’t inclined to chastise his brother for anything tonight. He’d done well during Ned’s long absence and he deserved to enjoy himself however he saw fit this night.

He did worry that his lady wife was not enjoying herself. She courteously turned down every invitation to dance, pleading the need to stay with Robb. However, Ned noticed that she was constantly adjusting his own cups and platters to keep the need for him to use his injured arm at a minimum and suspected that she remained there as much for him as for their son. He felt guilty about that. He recalled how she’d enjoyed the dancing at their wedding, even though she’d spent quite a bit of that evening dutifully sitting at his side as well.

“Cat!” he heard a gleeful shout that was too deep to be little Edmure’s and not deep enough to be Brynden Tully’s, and he looked up to see who dared address his lady wife so familiarly. He nearly choked on his ale when he saw Benjen, his face reddened from drink and dancing, coming up to Lady Catelyn with a lopsided grin on his face. “Dance with me, Cat!” Ben demanded. “You can’t just sit here like Ned all night. I’m sure you can dance much better than he can!”

Catelyn laughed. “I can’t leave Robb, Ben.” Ned noticed she had no difficulty calling his little brother by his given name. He wondered if she’d stumbled over Brandon’s the way she stumbled over his, or if it, too, had rolled easily off her tongue.

“Sure you can. I’ll get Etta.”

“You needn’t bother, Ben,” Ned said suddenly. “I can hold my son so that my lady wife might enjoy the dancing.”

“Are you certain, my lord?” she said, looking at him questioningly.

“I am quite capable of holding a babe, my lady. I will not break him.”

Her mouth twitched at his repetition of her own words from earlier. “I know that, my lord. Are you quite certain you don’t mind my dancing, though? I am well content to remain here with you.”

“Dance with my brother, my lady.” It sounded like a command, he realized.

She must have thought so, too, because she rose, handed Robb to him with a cool, “As you wish, my lord,” and took Benjen’s hand to be led away to the dance floor.

Any irritation she felt at him seemed to melt away as she danced, though, for she was all smiles as Benjen whirled her around the floor. She laughed out loud several times, and Ned found himself unable to stop watching her. When the song ended, three other men quickly stepped up to claim her for a dance, and she looked up to him helplessly. Realizing he would look selfish and discourteous if he demanded she return to her seat, he merely nodded, and then watched as she spent the next five or six songs being whirled about in the arms of other men, and it angered him that they were touching her more intimately than he had dared since his arrival in Winterfell. He had done no more than hold her hand and give her his arm. Then he remembered the way he had pressed his head against her, resting it between her soft breasts as Maester Luwin had cleaned and dressed his arm. That thought led to memories of how he’d touched her at Riverrun, and he found he didn’t want to watch her dance with other men anymore at all.

She was dancing with her uncle now. He caught Ser Brynden’s eye, and he could tell the man understood what he wanted. He watched him whisper something to Lady Catelyn, and then she looked up at him as well, turned to her uncle and nodded. Before the song ended, the Blackfish began guiding her back toward her place and was helping her back into her chair before anyone else had the chance to grab at her on the dance floor.

Her cheeks were a little flushed from exertion and she was panting slightly as she sat down and reached for the wine glass she had left there. A few strands of hair now escaped the braids around her face. She looked even more beautiful than she had before. “Did you enjoy yourself, my lady?” Ned asked.

“Yes, my lord. Thank you for allowing me to dance.” Her words were formal, but not cold. She reached for Robb who had begun squirming about on Ned’s lap now that he heard her voice.

Ned handed him over. “I believe he has missed you, my lady.”

Immediately, the child began to root around at her chest. “I believe he is hungry,” she said. “I’ll take him to my chambers.”

“I shall escort you,” Ned said immediately, rising from his chair.

“You don’t have to leave the banquet, my lord. I can . . .”

“I shall escort you,” Ned interrupted firmly. He silently cursed himself for the commanding tone of his voice when he saw her eyes darken again. “I want to come with you,” he said more gently. “I have seen enough of all of these people. I don’t think I shall ever see enough of . . .my son.” He realized to his surprise that he had almost said ‘you.’

She smiled at that, the dark clouds in her eyes disappearing. She carefully wrapped Robb in a fur against the cold night air, and they left the Great Hall without speaking to anyone. Ned could imagine what would be said when their absence was noted, but he didn’t particularly care. He was tired. His arm hurt. He wanted to watch his son nurse again, wanted to watch his wife lay the child down to sleep. He didn’t want to share his family with anyone else tonight.

By the time they reached Catelyn’s chambers, Robb was actually howling. She handed him to Ned just long enough to remove her cloak and undo the front laces on her gown. Then she took him back and sank into a chair. The howling stopped immediately as he latched onto her nipple.

“That’s quite remarkable,” Ned said.

“Oh, he’s very demanding when it comes to being fed,” she said. “But give him what he wants, and all’s right in his world.” She brushed the babe’s copper fuzz affectionately with her fingers. “You needn’t stay, my lord, if you would prefer to return to the banquet.”

“I prefer to remain here,” he said, sitting down himself.

A knock at the door interrupted whatever she might have said next. Before she had even responded to the knock, the door opened. “Would you like me to help you out of your dress, milady?” Ned heard Etta’s voice before the woman actually entered the room.

When she was inside the room and became aware of Ned sitting there, she grinned. “Mayhaps you won’t need my help with the laces after all, milady.”

Catelyn turned quite red at that, and Ned found himself recalling how she had flushed when the men had surrounded her at their bedding ceremony, and how he’d seen for himself how far down her body that flush went when young Jory Cassel had torn her dress in his zeal to get it off her. He forcibly turned his thoughts elsewhere and stood to acknowledge Etta.

“I can give the Lady Catelyn whatever assistance she requires,” he said stiffly.

The impertinent woman actually grinned at him. “Oh I don’t doubt that, Lord Eddard,” she said, far too suggestively. “I’ll see to it you aren’t disturbed.” She left then, more quickly than Ned could ever recall her leaving a room.

“I am sorry, my lady,” he said, looking at his lady wife’s still pink cheeks. “She should not have spoken so.”

Catelyn shrugged. “Why not?” she said quietly, looking down at Robb. “I am your wife, my lord. If you wish to bed me, it is your right.”

He didn’t know how to respond to that. He had no idea what she actually wanted him to say. “I . . .I would not have you . . .I mean . . .I can wait, my lady.”

She looked up at him then. “So you do not wish to bed me?”

 _Oh, gods, yes,_ he thought, looking at her. Robb had come off her nipple at her movement and it was there in front of him, standing straight up, dark pink and moist. He licked his lip and felt his cock stirring in his breeches. “I . . .would not force you . . .”

She was moving Robb to the other teat. “You would not need to,” she said softly. “I am your wife. My bed is yours whenever you wish, my lord.”

He wished she wouldn’t talk like that. He couldn’t tell whether she would actually welcome the idea of his bedding her or she was just so damned dutiful she thought her desires on the subject didn’t matter. They did matter to him.

More of her hair had come loose from her braids and rather a lot of her hair now fell forward over her shoulders. Just as he had earlier, he felt a compulsion to reach out and touch it. When she’d danced with Roger Ryswell, the man had toyed with the ends of her hair as he put his hand to her waist, and Ned had wanted to strangle him. “Might I . . .touch your hair, my lady?” he heard himself asking her.

She looked at him strangely. “Of course, my lord.”

He walked over and stood behind her, hesitating only a moment before reaching to gently lift the auburn mass off her back and then let it fall through his fingers. “You have the most remarkable hair, my lady.”

“Thank you, my lord. Etta did a lovely job, but I fear it is falling down now. I shall have to undo the braids and comb it out before I sleep.”

“I . . .I can take down the braids while you feed young Robb, if you would like,” Ned said, still running his fingers through the hair lying loose on her back.”

“If you wish, my lord.”

He almost got angry at that, wondering if she’d ever respond to him with anything else. Rather than saying anything about it, though, he simply began removing the rosebuds from her hair. They smelled sweet, and the fragrance lingered in her hair even after he removed them. He then began undoing the braids. He’d never done this before, but it seemed simple enough and he quickly got the hang of using his fingers to pull the braids apart. When he’d undone the last one, she sighed and shook her head, causing the hair to fall down all around her shoulders and back.

“That feels good,” she said. “Having it all loose, I mean. The braids do pull after awhile.” She paused for a moment. “Would you like to comb it?”

“Yes,” he said without hesitation. Once he grabbed the comb from the dressing table, he did hesitate. “You will have to tell me how to start,” he said. “You have quite a bit more hair than I do, and I’ve no wish to hurt you.”

She laughed softly. “I imagine you comb it the same way. Start near the ends and work your way up. My hair being longer only means it takes more time.”

“It isn’t only longer,” he said, as he began working the comb through the auburn tresses. “You have a great deal more of it. Do you suppose Robb will have this much when all his grows in?”

She laughed again. “Possibly,” she said. “Both Lysa and Edmure have thick hair like mine. Lysa’s color is slightly different, though. Just a shade less red.”

“I know,” he said, and she jerked slightly as if that had surprised her. “When she came to my cell,” he explained. “At first, before my eyes adjusted to the light, I saw her hair and I thought she was you. But you are right. Hers isn’t quite the same.” It was a bit easier to talk while standing behind her running his fingers and the comb through her hair than it was when he was looking into those blue eyes. “I prefer yours,” he told her.

She didn’t say anything, but she did seem to relax back against him. He worked in silence for a few moments. “I think I’ve got it all combed through,” he said after a bit. “Is Robb almost finished eating?”

“He is finished,” she said. “He’s almost asleep.”

As he moved away to put the comb on the table, she put the baby up on her shoulder and began patting his back. His puzzlement must have shown on his face because she smiled at him. “If I get him to belch now, his tummy settles better and he’ll sleep more soundly.”

He simply stood there in silence and watched her for several more minutes. When a surprisingly loud belch from their little son interrupted the silence, he laughed out loud, and she joined him. The babe seemed shockingly undisturbed by either his own impressive belch or his parents’ laughter, not even opening his eyes.

Catelyn stood then and laid him gently in the cradle, covering him only with a light blanket. “I’ve found he gets too warm in this room if I wrap him in a fur,” she said. “He sleeps longer like this.”

Ned smiled a little. “Well, he is my son, my lady. The cold is no trouble to a Stark.”

“Well, I am not a Stark,” she said. “Not by blood, anyway, and I must thank you for giving me these chambers, my lord. They are as comfortable as you told me they would be.”

They were standing very close together over the cradle where he’d been watching her lay their son down. Now that they faced each other, he found himself very much wanting to kiss her. As if she could read his mind, she asked him, “Do you remember on our wedding night when you told me I tasted of lemoncakes?”

He actually laughed at the memory. She’d just bitten into one of the tart desserts when the crowd had called for the bedding and had barely been able to swallow it as she was lifted into the air and carried off. They’d both been nervous, standing in that bedchamber completely naked, knowing what they were to do but unsure how to go about it. He’d kissed her, scarcely daring to put his hands on her bare flesh at first, and she’d trembled so he’d sought some way to ease the tension between them. When their lips parted, he had smiled at her and said, “Mmmm. It is a fortunate thing I like lemoncakes as well as I do.” They’d both laughed then, and somehow things had gone easier after that.

“I don’t believe I saw you eat any lemoncakes tonight, my lady.”

“No,” she said. “But I believe you like the Arbor Gold, my lord, and I did finish my glass of that when I returned from dancing.”

“So you did,” he said, moving even closer to her. “And I do like Arbor Gold.”

Then he was kissing her. She did taste of Arbor Gold and she smelled of the roses and she felt deliciously warm and soft against him. On their wedding night, he’d been afraid to touch her bare skin. Now he found himself cursing the clothing between them. He had not lain with a woman in a year, and desire quickly overwhelmed him as he continued kissing her and pressing her more tightly against him.

He forced himself to let her go. He took a step back from her and saw that she looked dismayed. Her breathing seemed heavier than usual, and he wondered if she could possibly desire him as well.

“Is something wrong, Ned?” she asked.

His name. She’d said his name without hesitating. He shook his head. “No, Catelyn. It is just that I do want very much to bed you. But only if this is something you wish as well.”

“I do, my lord,” she said, her cheeks coloring just slightly as she said it.

He smiled at her. “Come here then,” he said. “And let me help you with those laces.”

He was hardly a practiced hand at undressing women. He’d had a few women in the brothels Robert and his brother had dragged him into when he was younger, but while he couldn’t deny that those women gave him physical pleasure, the entire experience had always seemed lacking to him. There had been one pretty little serving girl at the Eyrie whom he’d had fancied quite a bit, and Robert had thought it the greatest gift ever when he’d sent her naked to Ned’s bed on his sixteenth birthday after they’d both drunk a bit too much ale. She’d been his first, and while he had enjoyed it very much, he’d been tortured by guilt afterwards. The girl had been a maiden when he took her. She’d sworn she loved him and wanted to continue coming to his bed, but he knew there could be no future for them, and he’d ended it rather than risk leaving her with a bastard. Robert had already fathered a bastard girl by then, and Ned wanted no part of ruining a woman and a child both by doing the same. Other than than her and those few whores, the only other woman he’d ever come close to bedding had been Ashara, and she’d practically undressed herself at Harrenhal when she’d brought him to her room and invited him into her bed.

The only woman he’d actually undressed was Catelyn. The wedding guests had done it for him that first night, but the nights after that they’d learned to undress each other. Now, his fingers seemed to remember what his brain didn’t, and before he even realized he’d managed it, she stood naked before him, and he was naked as well thanks to her fingers. His cock stood up stiff and straight, throbbing painfully as he looked at her. He’d had no woman since he’d taken Catelyn to wife and then left her at Riverrun, and he’d felt the need of one painfully on any number of occasions over the past year, easing that ache with his hand and mental images of a beautiful woman--occasionally some girl he’d glimpsed in a village or among the camp followers, rarely his first love from the Eyrie, most often Ashara Dayne or Catelyn herself.

Now, though, looking at this beautiful woman who happened to be his wife, Ned realized he didn’t ache just with the need to bed a woman. He needed his wife. He wanted Catelyn. She filled his senses and left no room for thoughts of any other woman. He wondered if it could possibly always be this way with her. He hoped so.

As he pulled her to him once more, and felt her skin against his, he thought he might burst into flames. She opened her mouth to him as their lips met, and her tongue moved as hungrily in his mouth as his moved in hers. He could feel her hands sliding down his back to grasp his hips, and he gasped. Together they moved toward the bed. As she lay back, her hair spreading out all around her, he wasn’t sure how he could last another second. She was so incredibly beautiful.

Staring at her laid out beneath him, he noted the dark pink lines on her belly. She saw him looking at them and frowned. “I am sorry, my lord,” she breathed. “I am afraid that carrying Robb left me marked.” She actually looked ashamed.

He bent down then and kissed each pink streak before looking up at her. “Look at me, Catelyn,” he said, indicating the bandage on his right arm and the numerous scars on both arms and his torso. “I am far more marked than you, my lady. Your scars come from bringing life into the world where mine are from killing. Yours do me far more honor than my own.”

She smiled at him. _Gods, her smile is beautiful._ Then she pulled him down to her, and he realized in frustration that he couldn’t support his weight on his right arm. He rolled over onto his back, and she looked at him, raising her brows in question.

“I can’t . . .” he indicated the bandaged arm. “Do you remember? At Riverrun? When we . . .”

She nodded and her cheeks colored once more. Gods, he loved that she could blush like that, even when they were like this. She sat up then and straddled him, that flush spreading down her neck and coloring the tops of her breasts. He pushed himself up with his left arm so that he could kiss her once more and then put his mouth on her nipples. They were darker than he remembered, and he wondered if that were to do with the babe as well. She made a little whimpering noise as he nibbled at them, and that sent another jolt of desire straight to his cock. He fell back onto the bed and put his left hand on her hip. She understood what he wanted, and took his cock in her hand guiding herself down onto its tip.

She was wet, and he slid into her easily, shivering with the sensation of feeling her surround him like that. She cried out just a little as he pushed himself up into her as deeply as he could, and he stopped, not knowing if he had hurt her. She looked down at him, her hair falling over her shoulders and brushing against his chest where she leaned over him, and then she began to move, rocking herself against him and pushing herself up and down along his cock. He lost track of everything then except the storm building inside him. He kept a firm hold of her with his left hand and thrust upward into her over and over until he felt himself explode, spilling his seed deep inside her. She clutched at him tightly, her body seeming to jerk involuntarily before she collapsed down on his chest.

They lay there like that for what felt like a very long time, still joined together as he began to soften within her. The soft weight of her lying on top of him warmed him and he ran his fingers through her hair and down her back. Finally, she shivered, and he realized her sweat soaked skin was becoming chilled even in the warm room. Gently, he rolled her off him, and pulled the fur up over her. Then he pulled her against him, lying on his left side so that he could have his own back open to the air lest he get too hot beneath that fur.

She lay against him and made no attempt to move away. After some time, she said, “Robb will wake before the morning, my lord. If that will disturb you, mayhaps you would prefer to sleep in your own chambers.”

He exhaled deeply into her hair and absently ran his hand along her side. “Do you want me to go, my lady?”

“I want you to sleep comfortably, my lord. I want you to . . .”

“Do you want me to go, Cat?” he interrupted her.

She didn’t speak for a moment, and he knew his use of her nickname had surprised her. But his brother used it. She was his wife. If Ben could call her Cat, he certainly could as well.

“No.” It was almost a whisper.

“Good. I do not wish to go. When our son wakes, I shall give him to you.”

He felt her nod her head.

“I am most glad to be home and to have you and Robb here, my lady.”

“I am glad you have come home to us, my lord.”

There were still many things unsettled. He didn’t want to leave Lyanna’s son at Greywater Watch indefinitely. He knew that all that lay between Robert and himself was not yet put to rest. He had to get down to the business of actually being the Lord of Winterfell, and he wasn’t entirely certain he knew how. He was a father, and while that thrilled him, it terrified him a bit as well when he thought about how helpless Robb truly was. Protecting him, helping him grow strong, and teaching him to be a man and a lord---all of that was Ned’s responsibility, and he prayed he was up to it. He was a husband, and he wanted to be a good one. He prayed that he could truly come to know his lady wife, and that real and lasting affection would grow between them.

Worries about all these things chased each other through his mind and made sleep difficult to find. Yet, as he felt Catelyn’s sleeping form warm against him, he thought that mayhaps he had made a promising start on the last thing at least. With that thought to comfort him on his first night in Winterfell in a very long time, Ned Stark finally fell asleep, waking some time in the darkest part of night to his son’s cry. Before his wife could stir, he slipped from the bed and retrieved the little boy, laying him gently down on the bed between Catelyn and himself. As she sleepily pulled the babe against her to find a nipple and begin to suckle, he saw her smile at him in the dark. He put an arm protectively over her and Robb and thought to himself that he would hold them safely forever.


	7. Petyr

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter begins Part II of the story and takes place after more than a year has passed.

Petyr Baelish liked King’s Landing. He liked the great crowds of people, the constant flow of information, and commerce, the almost endless possibilities for new knowledge. Knowledge brought opportunity, and King’s Landing held abundantly greater opportunities than that backwater, Gulltown, where he’d spent the better part of the past year. Not that he hadn’t been grateful for the opportunity he’d been given there. He’d managed Lord Arryn’s financial matters well enough to impress the old man, and managed his own affairs even better. The two brothels he’d acquired there still provided him a nice income completely unknown to the Hand of the King.

Now he’d been brought to King’s Landing to assist Lord Arryn further. Apparently, good King Robert went through gold at an alarming rate, and sweet Lysa had convinced her lord husband that the boy financial wizard from the Vale who’d managed to set Gulltown aright might be of use in addressing the crown’s financial woes. Good, sweet Lysa. The girl had certainly done her best for him. He only wished her best did not include such frequent insistence upon his company now that he had arrived here. She was useful, certainly, and even somewhat amusing in small doses. In large doses, however, she was tiresome. If she’d keep silent and stand with her back to him, he’d like her better. In those moments, he could almost imagine she was Cat. But she always insisted on talking of their great lost love, and that gave Petyr headaches.

He’d been here a little more than a fortnight now, and he’d spent most of his time with Lord Arryn, examining the records of the crown’s assests and expenditures. He’d met several other members of the King’s small council, all of whom had something to say about the kingdom’s finances, but when he’d asked Lord Arryn if the King intended to sit with them at some point, the man had looked even older and wearier than usual.

“The King is busy with other things,” he’d said shortly. “He leaves such details to myself and the council, concerning himself only with major decisions.”

Petyr was well aware what sort of decisions most concerned Robert Baratheon, and they were likely to center most around which whore to bed or which wine to drink on any given night. Having discovered the profitability of well-run brothels in Gulltown, he had wasted no time inquiring about the vast number of brothels here in King’s Landing, and no one could have any lengthy conversations here about brothels without hearing tales of the King. He had wedded Tywin Lannister’s daughter over a year ago and had gotten her with child, but apparently had no interest in keeping to her bed.

As far as Petyr could tell, the man had no great interest in running the kingdom either. Lord Arryn appeared to be doing that, although he was unfailingly defensive of Robert whenever any critical remark was made. That was Lord Arryn’s weakness, Petyr had discovered very quickly. The man was as intelligent as any he had ever met, honorable beyond belief, and more diligent about his duties as Hand than seemed humanly possible. Yet, he forever sought to cast Robert Baratheon in a positive light, and even seemed to believe better of him than the King appeared to deserve.

Petyr wanted to meet the King himself and learn more about his strengths and weaknesses. Hopefully, he would get the chance soon. For now, he was summoned once more to attend Lord Arryn’s other weakness, his lady wife. Petyr sighed. Apparently, Lysa had lost a babe just prior to his arrival and become quite despondent. Lord Arryn saw that Petyr’s presence cheered her greatly and so encouraged him to spend time with her. The man was obviously blind to the fact that his lady wife would cheerfully spread her legs for him should he so much as ask her to. He had no desire for that, however. He would smile at her, and touch her hand, even brush her lips with his in a manner just past chaste to keep her wishing to please him. But he hoped he would not need to bed her. She was not Cat.

 _Catelyn._ The woman Petyr wanted was held prisoner in the frozen wasteland of the North, having been sold as a broodmare for a cold Northern lord whom Petyr had heard much about in Gulltown. Supposedly the man was as cold as the place he called home. Poor Cat. She’d always loved smiles and music, and her breath had been warm and sweet when she’d pressed her lips against his. He could still taste those lips. He could feel her hair in his fingers. He remembered how she’d trembled and cried out his name when he’d taken her maidenhead.

 _Only that never happened,_ he thought bitterly. Lysa had stolen that memory from him when she’d come to him half terrified and half hopeful to tell him she carried his child. She spoke of that night, and he’d wanted her to stop speaking. He’d told himself she lied, even as her words made sense of everything. Cat had been able to pretend so easily nothing had happened between them because nothing had happened. She hadn’t needed to pretend. It had been Lysa--stupid, silly Lysa--in his bed that night. He should have known. He never doubted Cat loved him. Of course, she did. She was only too caught up in the Tully words, too honorable and obedient to her father to ever defy him in the matter of the Stark marriage. Brandon Stark had never deserved her. Eddard Stark deserved her even less--a cold, humorless second brother who was nothing but an errand boy for Robert Baratheon.

Petyr stopped walking and willed himself to stop thinking. He did himself no favors by dwelling on these things. In Gulltown, it had been easier in some ways. Without Lysa there to constantly remind him of her presence in his bed at Riverrun, he’d almost begun to believe once more that it had been Cat. He imagined himself becoming powerful enough in his own right to claim her and claim any title he wanted. He’d become far more powerful than Hoster Tully ever was. He still hated Hoster Tully for sending him away because he knew if he had stayed at Riverrun, he would have found a way. Cat would have understood how she belonged to him in the end, especially once Brandon Stark was dead. He hated Lysa more, though. He hated her for not being Cat.

 _Stop thinking on these things,_ he admonished himself. _These thoughts serve no one. Smile for Lysa, and get her to help you meet with the king._

He took several deep breaths and continued walking. By the time Lysa Arryn opened her door to him, he was smiling as if there were no other woman he would prefer to look upon.

“Petyr!” she squealed. “I was hoping Jon would let you go early enough that you could come.”

“I could not be kept away,” he said. “I barely saw you at all yesterday. Not seeing you at all was difficult all that time I was in the Vale. Not seeing you now, though, when I know how close you are--that is excruciating.”

He was rewarded by a smile and a quick clasp of his hand by hers. He held her hand just long enough to cause the color to rise in her cheeks, and then he pulled his hand back. “I would never bring dishonor upon you, my lady. To look upon you is enough.”

As usual, she looked both flattered and vaguely disappointed at such words, but they seemed to satisfy her. “Come in and talk with me,” she said. “I’ve nothing to do until this evening when we are to attend dinner with the King and Queen.” She said it as if she would rather do anything else.

“I thought you enjoyed the court, Lysa. A lady so pretty was made for the court.”

She giggled, but then pouted at him. “Oh, the big dinners with lots of people all in fancy dress can be fun. I am the lady wife of the Hand of the King, and I always get one of the best seats and the best food, and that’s all right.” She wrinkled up her nose. “But I don’t like these small dinners. The King will be drunk before dessert can be served more than likely, and the Queen is vicious. She says the most horrible things to me, Petyr, really.” She bit her lip, a gesture she shared with her sister, and Petyr found the similarity in their appearance then disturbing. Immediately, though, Lysa’s expression regained it’s usual petulance. “I bet she wouldn’t speak so to Cat,” she pouted. “And even if she did, Cat would know what to say back. I never do.”

Petyr rubbed his face with his hand to hide his amusement. Catelyn was one of Lysa’s weaknesses, as the poor girl was trapped forever between envy and admiration for her beautiful older sister. Of course, Lysa’s greatest weakness was Petyr himself. “Poor Lysa,” he said sympathetically. “Is it truly only the King and Queen you dine with? No other people at all that you might converse with?”

“Oh,” Lysa said absently. “There are always a few others. Some of the Queen’s ladies or men the King or my husband have asked to come. But they don’t ever talk to me.”

He smiled charmingly at her. “You should get your husband to ask me, my lady. I would have no desire to talk to anyone but you.”

She giggled. “Oh, that would be nice,” she said. “I think it would be only right, too. You’re helping with the King’s finances, after all. You should get dinner with him.”

She chewed her lip again, and Petyr remained silent, allowing her to think. Lysa was often foolish, but she was not unintelligent, and he had learned that letting her devise plans of her own sometimes paid great dividends. “Jon wants the King to be more involved in all the treasury business. Mayhaps, if he met you and saw how clever you are, if Jon could tell him all you did in Gulltown while you’re right there, he might take a bit more interest. Even if his only interest is in seeing if you could possibly be as clever as Jon has said you are.”

“You are building me up a bit, my lady,” Petyr said modestly.

“No,” she said. “I’m only saying what Jon does. He truly does believe you’re every bit as clever as I always told him you were now that he’s seen what you can do. He might like a chance to get the King to see it as well. Yes, yes, that just might work.” She reached out and grabbed both his hands. “I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to go now, Petyr, so that I can go and find my lord husband to talk to him. But do make sure you have something to wear to dinner. You know the doublet of yours I like best. Wear that.”

“You seem terribly sure of yourself, my lady,” he teased her.

“Well, Jon might have some reason for not wanting you there, but none I can think of. So, I am at least very hopeful this will work.” She squeezed his hands. “And dinner will be so much more enjoyable with you there. It will be like Riverrun again! We can whisper and laugh together through the meal and no one need know what we’re talking about!”

He left her to her sentimental, if inaccurate, memories and hoped that her efforts on his behalf would be successful.

Several hours later, as Petyr took his seat beside Lysa Arryn at the dining table, the smile he gave Cat’s younger sister was almost genuine. She had succeeded in her mission, and Petyr Baelish, lord over perhaps a dozen hovels in the Fingers was now to dine with the King of the Seven Kingdoms. _Am I good enough for you now, Hoster Tully?_ he thought resentfully.

This was not any of the main halls in the Red Keep, but a smaller, elegant room with arched doorways leading toward a balcony with the one of the better views. Three rectangular tables had been set up in a U shape. The four seats at the center table were as of yet unoccupied. Petyr sat at the far end of the right table, with Jon Arryn in the seat at that table nearest the head table, and Lysa between them. At the table across from them sat two young looking noblemen with their ladies. Petyr did not recognize them--likely some minor members of the court being rewarded for some petty service or another.

After a moment, the king and queen were announced, and Petyr rose along with the other dinner guests. Robert Baratheon strode into the room with his Lannister queen, obviously large with child, on his arm. Behind them came two members of the Kingsguard, Ser Barristan Selmy and Ser Jaime Lannister. King Robert was as powerfully built a man as Petyr had heard. He nodded absently toward the two couples at the other table, smiled at Jon Arryn, and did not acknowledge Lysa or Petyr at all before taking his own seat without assisting the queen into hers.

“I’m starving,” he said by way of greeting. “And thirsty.” He held up a large empty flagon in front of him and waved it in the direction of one of the servants.

As the queen looked down at her husband, Petyr did not miss the expression which briefly crossed her face. It put him in mind of someone regarding a particularly loathsome insect. _How interesting._

Ser Jaime was quickly at her side, though, taking her arm and assisting her into her seat with a respectful “Your Grace.” His expression was more difficult to read, but Petyr thought he detected a certain lack of reverence for the man’s royal goodbrother. Once the royal couple were both seated, Ser Barristan seated himself to the outside of the king, Ser Jaime to the outside of the queen, and all the guests once again took their seats.

Conversation was fairly minimal at first as the food and drink was brought out. One of the men at the other table seemed eager to converse with King Robert, or rather to flatter him ridiculously, but he gradually quieted in the face of the king’s obvious disinterest. After his third glass of wine, however, the king looked pointedly at Jon Arryn.

“So, Jon, this is the boy from the Vale? The boy you’re wanting me to let hold my purse strings?”

“This is Lord Petyr Baelish of the Fingers, Your Grace,” Lord Arryn said courteously. “He has been reviewing the treasury reports with me, yes. He has done remarkable work with my accounts in Gulltown, and I am confident he will be of great assistance to us here.”

The king looked long and hard at Petyr, and Petyr realized he was being assessed. The man had already consumed a rather large amount of wine, but aside from a somewhat reddened complexion, he did not appear drunk. Petyr wondered just how large a capacity for drink good King Robert had. “How old are you, Lord Balish? Lord Arryn gave me to believe you were little more than a boy. You look older than I thought you would.”

“I am seven and ten, Your Grace,” Petyr said, bowing his head deferentially. “I have oft been told I look older.” Indeed, while he had a slight, youthful build, Petyr already had a few grey hairs showing around his temples. He couldn’t remember his father having any hair color other than grey (not that he cared to remember his father much at all), so he supposed it was a familial trait. He didn’t mind in the least, finding that the appearance of greater years made people take him more seriously.

“And have you found more money for me, young Lord Baelish?” King Robert asked somewhat mockingly.

“Well, Your Grace, I have discovered several expenditures which could be markedly reduced, providing the crown with significantly more money in its coffers.”

“Aha!” Robert bellowed. “I knew it! Jon’s only got you here to stop me spending what’s mine to spend!”

The four people at the other table looked uncomfortable, the queen looked bored and possibly angry, and Jon Arryn looked decidedly irritated. The two knights of the Kingsguard simply continued eating their meal as if the discussion were not taking place, and Lysa looked at Petyr adoringly, confident that he would know what to say.

“Actually, Your Grace, I make no reference to your personal expenditures at all. The City Watch is a tremendous expense, and frankly, I think some of the senior officers are quite overcompensated. They cannot possibly require what they are being given. Also, the interest rates on some of the crown’s loans are practically extortion. I know better terms can be negotiotiated. Reducing those rates will free up significant revenue.”

The king stared at him, and his face slowly broke into a wide grin. “Well, well! It appears you have brought me someone with some sense, Jon!”

Lord Arryn arched a brow, but he did give Petyr a small smile.

“We will have to discuss these things in greater detail at another time,” King Robert continued. “For now, though, eat up, all of you.” Looking toward the wall where the servants stood, he lifted his flagon, obviously empty once more. This time, once it was refilled, he lifted it high and reached out to put his left hand on the queen’s swollen middle. “To my heir!” he roared, and everyone at the table lifted their cups. Petyr noted the queen press her lips more tightly together than ever.

“What say you we host a great feast once my son is born, Jon?” Robert asked. “Now that your man is solving all our monetary woes, we should celebrate the arrival of the future king. Invite all the High Lords here. Remind them who holds the throne.”

Now Jon Arryn pursed his lips, and Petyr realized there was more to this line of conversation than simple celebration. “The child could be a daughter, Your Grace,” Jon said pointedly. “Not that a princess should not be feasted, but . . .”

“It’s a boy,” Robert said confidently. “I just have a feeling. I knew it when I put him in her,” he laughed, giving the queen a rather rough squeeze. She said nothing, but looked almost as uncomfortable as the people sitting across from Petyr.

Petyr turned to Lysa and saw that she now looked pale and ill at ease. Suddenly, he remembered the hints that in spite of reports to the contrary, not all was well between the king and his former right hand man, Eddard Stark. He had once imprisoned the man after all, and rumor had it that the alleged Targaryen baby the Northman had spirited away was still being proclaimed as the rightful king by Ser Arthur Dayne and a handful of supporters in Dorne in spite of Doran Martell’s declaring allegiance to King Robert.

“I think a celebration for your firstborn child is an excellent idea, Your Grace,” Petyr said. “We can certainly find the financing for such an important occasion. No doubt Lady Arryn would enjoy seeing her sister again. Surely, Lord and Lady Stark would attend such an event.”

The king’s eyes darkened, and Lysa let out a very small involuntary gasp. “I . . .I don’t think Catelyn would come,” she said in a small voice. “Her son is so young, and she likely wouldn’t leave him.”

“She’d come if I command it,” Robert said darkly.

“Do you really think so, Your Grace?” The queen spoke for the first time in a great while, and though her voice sounded sweet enough, Petyr thought she had no sweetness in her intent. “I doubt Ned Stark lets his Tully bride or their little son travel as much as a league from Winterfell. Ever.”

“I am the king,” Robert growled then, turning on his wife. “Ned knows that well enough. He’ll do as I say in this.”

“If you say so, Your Grace,” Queen Cersei murmured demurely, sipping her wine.

“I do say so!” Robert shouted then, standing up from the table. “We will hold a feast for my son and every High Lord in the Seven Kingdoms will come pay their respects--including Eddard bloody Stark and his Tully wench.”

“Your Grace!” Lysa gasped, unable to hide her dismay at hearing her older sister referred to as a Tully wench.

King Robert stared at her a moment, looking almost as if he might apologize, but then he said simply, “I’ve had enough to eat. Jon--a word with you.” He then turned and strode from the room. Jon Arryn sighed heavily, but got up to follow him. Like a shadow, Barristan Selmy rose silently and went after the king as well.

Once the three men were gone, Queen Cersei looked around at the remaining diners. “Well, my lords and ladies,” she said, plastering an obviously false smile on her face. “I hope you have enjoyed your dinner. I’m afraid I tire quite easily these days.” She placed her hands significantly over her belly. “Lady Arryn,” she said suddenly, causing Lysa to jump. “I must retire to my chambers, but I know the cook has prepared several excellent desserts. Perhaps, you could take the ladies out on the balcony to enjoy the view and have dessert there?”

Lysa nodded. Petyr knew she was terrified of the queen and likely shocked that the woman was offering her the honor of acting as hostess. He rather doubted it was meant as any kindness toward Lysa.

“My lords, you may join the ladies or enjoy your own pursuits. I do beg your pardon for leaving you.” She looked then at her brother, and Petyr was struck by how similar in appearance they actually were. “If you could escort me, Ser Jaime?”

“Of course, Your Grace,” the man said and he rose to help her from her chair.

Everyone else rose respectfully as she stood up and left the room on Ser Jaime’s arm, and Petyr realized belatedly that none of them had stood for the king’s exit. The man hadn’t exactly given them a chance to do so, though.

“Ladies, right this way,” Lysa was saying. “The view is truly lovely.” Then she gave several quick instructions to the nearest servant before turning back to Petyr. It was remarkable how much more poised she became with Cersei Lannister out of the room. “Will you be joining us, Petyr?” she said, smiling at him and extending her hand.

“Mayhaps in a bit, my lady,” he said bending to brush his lips to her fingers. Her smile widened, and she squeezed his hand briefly before turning to walk to the balcony, the two other ladies in tow.

“I think the lovely Lady Arryn would be quite content to have you join her in her bed, Lord Baelish,” the taller of the two other men said with a rather salacious grin after the ladies had gone out one of the arched doors.

Petyr looked at both of them. They were obviously older than he was--mid twenties, at least. “You shouldn’t speak so disrespectfully of Lady Arryn,” he admonished.

“Oh, I meant no disrespect,” the man said quickly. “It’s just that she is young and beautiful. And Lord Arryn, while he’s no doubt a good man, is an old one. I doubt he makes his young wife’s pulse quicken in the bedchamber.”

The other man laughed. “She does seem to fancy you more than she does her lord husband, my lord,” he said. “That’s all Darryn meant. And who could blame her, poor girl, shackled to an old man like that. No doubt she’s a dutiful wife, but I’d wager she thinks of someone else when he beds her.”

Petyr looked at them both carefully and decided this was just idle talk for amusement’s sake. He’d heard enough like it in his brothels. “Well,” he said, leaning in conspiratorially. “Lady Arryn is a respectable, dutiful wife to her husband, and I won’t hear a word against her behavior here in King’s Landing. But, I grew up in Riverrun with both of Hoster Tully’s daughters.” He smiled suggestively and raised his brows.

“And?” the first man encouraged him eagerly.

“And if the Lady Lysa wishes to think of someone other than Lord Arryn, she certainly has memories to draw on.”

Both men laughed appreciatively, and Petyr felt oddly pleased with himself.

“You said both daughters,” the second man said. “Do you mean to say you had the other sister, too? The one wed to Eddard Stark in the North?”

An image of Cat’s face appeared in his mind, tangled up as it normally was with the memory of his hands running through long auburn hair and over pale white breasts. _It was Cat I loved that night. It was._ If he told himself that often enough, mayhaps he could make it true. “The Lady Catelyn,” he said softly. He smiled at the two men. “She is more beautiful than her sister by far. One taste of her lips is . . .” He let his voice trail off and licked his own lips, leaving them to their imaginations. “If you will excuse me, my lords, there is something I must see to.”

Petyr left the two men staring after him as he left the room and walked in the direction he had seen the king and Jon Arryn take. When he reached a place where several corridors met, he looked around until he saw Barristan Selmy standing outside a doorway. Smiling, he walked up to the man.

“Forgive me, Ser Barristan,” he said apologetically. “I have never been in this part of the Red Keep before, and I fear I’ve gotten quite turned around searching for a privy chamber.”

“I fear you have passed two by, Lord Baelish,” the old knight said courteously enough. “But the nearest is just at the end of this passage.” He pointed past the door he guarded.

“This has gone on long enough, Robert,” he heard Jon Arryn’s voice from within. “You’ve had spies in Winterfell for moons now, and not a whisper of anything treasonous! Let it go!”

“I cannot! He still refuses to say anything of the whereabouts of the boy! I grow tired of his continued defiance, Jon! I am his king!” Robert Baratheon shouted every word.

“The privy, Lord Baelish?” Ser Barristan reminded him, as if they had never heard the argument taking place in the closed room.

“Oh . .yes. Of course.” Petyr turned and walked in the indicated direction. Ser Barristan could hardly fault him for stopping stunned a moment. He now walked slowly enough to catch the king’s next words, which was not a difficult thing to do given the volume of his voice.

“He refuses me the boy! He refuses to foster his son here as surety! He cannot refuse an invitation to feast his future king! He wouldn’t dare!”

Jon Arryn’s words after that were too low to hear, and Petyr sighed, turning into the small privy chamber. He relieved himself and then came back out into the corridor just in time to see Lord Arryn walking away from the room where he’d argued with the king. Ser Barristan appeared to be escorting him at least back to the main corridor, and the two men had their heads close together as if speaking of something. As their backs were to him, he quickly and quietly walked back up to the room where the king and Lord Arryn had been arguing. The door was ajar, and he could see King Robert sitting at a small desk, his face in his hands. Without hesitation, Petyr slipped into the room, and closed the door behind him.

King Robert looked up. “What the devil are you doing here?” he demanded. “Did Jon send you after me? I told him that I . . .”

“No, Your Grace,” Petyr said quickly. “I believe I can assist you.”

“With what, Baelish?”

Petyr turned toward the door. Barristan Selmy did not come barging through it, so it’s unlikely he had returned to hear the king call out his name.

“Your northern problem, Your Grace.”

Now, Robert gave him one of those long assessing looks. He was drunk, but he wasn’t entirely stupid, and Petyr got the distinct impression the king was well practiced at functioning in a less than sober state.

“What do you mean?” he said more quietly.

Petyr sighed. “I overheard you and Lord Arryn, Your Grace. Only a few words,” he assured him. “Ser Barristan would not have allowed me to stay and listen in any event. Likely, he’s wondering why I haven’t come back from the privy even now.”

“You shouldn’t listen to private conversations, Littlefinger,” Robert said dangerously, and Petyr wondered desperately where he’d heard that awful nickname little Edmure Tully had given him years ago. It had to be from Lysa, damn the woman. “Not if you wish to keep your ears.”

Petyr swallowed. “No, Your Grace. It was not intentional, I assure you. But while Lord Arryn is a wise and honorable man, there are some things he does not understand, and I . . .”

“Sit,” the king told him, rising himself and walking to the door to open it. “Ser Barristan,” he called. The knight must be walking back toward him. “I discovered young Lord Baelish wandering the corridor. I’d like a private word with him if you could stay by the door, please.” Then he shut the door and returned to his chair. “Talk.”

Petyr found himself almost speechless with delight at how well this had worked out. He would have liked to have seen Selmy’s face just now. He couldn’t afford to congratulate himself yet, though.

“Your Grace,” he said. “I admit I do not know Lord Stark, but I know his lady wife very well indeed. I was fostered at Riverrun for many years. She takes the Tully words very seriously. Family, Duty, Honor.”

The king snorted. “Well, apparently she takes her wifely duties seriously enough. The girl I sent to Winterfell had no luck at all getting close to Ned, and I picked her out because she looked almost just like a little girl I know he bedded up in the Eyrie.”

Petyr raised a brow. “I have heard that Lord Stark is far more honorable than most men in many ways, Your Grace. I have even heard he is somewhat cold. Perhaps such temptations simply do not appeal to him.”

The king laughed out loud at that. “Gods, man! You forget that I do know him. He’s honorable, all right, and dutiful beyond what any man ought need to be. But he is a man. He likes women well enough. It’s just nearly impossible to get him to actually take one. He’s got to want her badly and not feel he’s doing her any wrong.” He laughed again, bitterly. “It appears he wants the one he’s wed to. My people say he spends more time in her bedchamber than his own, so I’ll not get to him that way. It just figures that he’d get a warm, willing wife while I’m stuck with that icy cunt Tywin Lannister pushed on me.”

Petyr closed his eyes briefly, forcing his mind away from thoughts of this Stark lord finding Cat warm and willing. _Duty,_ he told himself. _That’s all she’s ever felt for any Stark. She loves me._

“So did this girl leave Winterfell?”

“No!” The king smiled. “She’s a clever lass. She couldn’t get close to the lord, so she’s gotten close to the lady. She’s one of Lady Stark’s personal maids now. Unfortunately, it appears the Tully woman is as closed mouth as her husband, so other than the menus at Winterfell, the weather reports, and Lord and Lady Stark’s personal habits, the girl has damned little to report.”

“But if she serves Lady Stark, she has access to her son, does she not?”

“I suppose so,” Robert growled. “The son who should be here. He’s my namesake, you know. I told Ned he should be fostered here.”

“Isn’t he a little young to be fostered?” Petyr asked innocently.

Robert Baratheon looked at him dangerously. “Ned knows damn well why I’d like his son in King’s Landing, and I’ll wager you do, too. You don’t strike me as particularly stupid, Baelish.”

“I am not stupid, Your Grace.” Petyr said. “I told you I know Lady Stark well.” He paused, looking at the king and letting him make of that what he would. “Family, Duty, Honor. There is nothing she would not do for her son. If she thought it would benefit him, she would have him here. If she thought him in danger, she would do whatever was necessary to remove him from it.”

“What are you suggesting, Lord Baelish?”

“I am not suggesting anything, Your Grace,” Petyr said carefully. “I am only saying that Lady Catelyn would do anything in her power to protect that little Stark heir from harm. And if any harm did befall him . . .say he was threatened or kidnapped, perhaps . . .she would be forever grateful to anyone who rescued the child and took him to safety somewhere.”

“Are you seriously suggesting that I . . .”

“I am not suggesting that you do anything, Your Grace. I am merely telling you about Lady Catelyn. I know her . . .very well.”

“I thought I knew Ned Stark very well. It seems people aren’t always as knowable as we think.” The king looked down a long time then.

“So what would Lord Stark do if he thought his son was in danger?” Petyr asked finally.

“Protect him,” King Robert said without hesitation. “Gods damn the man, he’ll protect him. He will never willingly give him up. Never. Even though I would never . . .” He banged his fist on the table once and then again. “Why, Ned?” he asked the air. “Why must it come to this?”

Without another word, the King of the Seven Kingdoms stood up and left the room. Petyr waited a moment to be certain that Ser Barristan would follow him, and then slowly made his way back toward the room where they had dined. _King Robert has spies in Winterfell. Lord Arryn had said spies, not spy, so there must be more than the one girl. Surely, it would not be too_ _difficult to get out of the castle with one small child._ Petyr smiled to himself. _And what chaos that would produce_. Petyr had learned to like chaos. He’d felt like he’d fallen into a pit in the aftermath of that duel with Brandon Stark and his taking of Lysa Tully’s _Catelyn’s, I will believe nothing else,_ maidenhead. Yet, somehow, he had fashioned that chaos into a ladder, and he was getting better at doing that all the time.

He had planted the seed. There was nothing more to do now besides finding Lysa Arryn and tasting some of that excellent dessert the queen had mentioned.


	8. Catelyn

Catelyn Stark’s heart always sped up a bit when she saw the little seven sided building standing in the large courtyard between the Great Keep and the Great Hall. She told herself this was caused by the great joy of having a dedicated sacred space to honor and pray to her gods. She told herself that, but as she had never been prone to self-delusion, she knew it wasn’t entirely true. _He built me a sept._ No, the quickening of her pulse when she looked at her beautiful sept was far too similar to that which occurred when a certain pair of grey eyes looked at her in a particular way for her to deny that her reaction to her sept had as much to do with her feelings for husband as for her gods.

 _He built me a sept_. At one and twenty, she had now lived with Eddard Stark in Winterfell for over a year, and at some point during that time, she had fallen in love with her husband. She wasn’t exactly sure when it happened. She couldn’t really even explain how it happened. There were still many moments when she felt he hid himself from her, when she worried that she wasn’t what he truly wanted, and when she wasn’t sure she’d ever really understand him.

Yet, every time she saw him with Robb, every time he asked her opinion and truly listened to it, every time he touched her in her bed with more concern for her own pleasure than for his, every time she woke to find him still there just looking at her, she opened her heart to him a little more. Finally, she realized she’d opened it to him completely, and she would never be able to close it against him. Whatever Ned felt for her or didn’t feel for her, she loved him. Nothing could change that now. Sometimes it thrilled her. Sometimes it frightened her. But she couldn’t change it, and she didn’t truly want to. _He built me a sept._

She reached the entrance to the little sept now, intending to go in and offer a prayer to the Mother before she went into the Hall to break her fast. She would give thanks once more for the gift she had been given, as she had every day since she’d realized, and she would pray for guidance. Was it time yet to share her news with her lord husband? Or was it still too early? She did not want to risk giving him hope only to see him disappointed in her.

She knew he wanted another child as badly as she did. Robb had come to them so easily that she had been surprised and distressed when she did not find herself with child again soon after Lord Eddard’s return. It certainly wasn’t for lack of trying on their part. Maester Luwin had assured her that all was as it should be, and that likely she would conceive again once Robb was weaned. Robb had shown little interest in weaning, however, even as he’d begun to eat more and more from the table, and Catelyn hadn’t had the heart to simply refuse him. He was nearly two years old now, and he had finally begun to drink more from his little cup than from her.

Four moons ago, her moonblood had been two weeks late. As soon as she had missed it, she had run to Ned in great excitement and seen her own joy mirrored in those grey eyes when she told him. Several days later, when she bled, he had held her when she cried after she told him she had been mistaken. She had seen the disappointment in his face, though, and feared he was disappointed with her.

This time, when her moonblood failed to arrive on time, she had kept silent, wanting to be certain and not risk disappointing him once more. She should have bled twice by now, though, and her breasts had become so tender that it was painful on those few occasions each day when Robb did suckle, and she found herself discouraging him from it more actively. Surely, she was with child. Now, she thanked the Mother daily and prayed that she might carry the babe safely.

Upon entering the sept, she was dismayed to find it occupied. Normally, there was no one here as the septon Ned had promised to procure for her had not yet arrived, and there were few here other than herself and Septa Mordane who kept the Faith of the Seven. In fact, she could only name two--her little maid who knelt now before the Warrior and her maid’s brother. They’d come to Winterfell some seven moons before from the south. The two were originally from Stoney Sept, but had lost all their family and possessions during Robert’s Rebellion. They’d traveled from town to castle to keep, hiring themselves out as laborers, gradually coming as far north as Winterfell.

“Milady!” the girl exclaimed now, standing up quickly only to curtsy in front of Catelyn. “I . . .I’ll be going.”

“I didn’t mean to disturb you, Marni,” Catelyn said quickly, feeling guilty that she’d been selfishly disappointed at not having the sept to herself. “The Seven do not belong to me. You are welcome to pray in the sept whenever you wish.”

“I . . .thank you, milady,” the girl said, curtsying once more with her head down.

Marni was only two years younger than Catelyn herself, but so deferential that she often seemed much younger. When she and her brother, Arryk, had first arrived, Catelyn had not liked the girl at all, believing that she took far too great an interest in Ned. Her husband, to his credit, had scarcely seemed to notice the girl at all, and after several weeks passed, Catelyn no longer found anything objectionable in Marni’s behavior and began to wonder if she had imagined it all. In truth, the girl had become one of her favorites, and often assisted Etta in attending to her and Robb’s needs. She positively doted on Robb, and he loved her, and while Catelyn grew to love more about Winterfell almost daily, she still enjoyed having someone around who knew the places of her youth.

Marni still had her head down as she began to walk past Catelyn toward the door. That wasn’t like her.

“Marni,” Catelyn said, suddenly concerned. “Look at me.”

Slowly the maid raised her face up, and it was obvious she had been crying.

“Oh, Marni! What is wrong? Has something happened to you?”

The girl looked pained at her words. “No, milady. Nothing has happened. I just . . .I get sad sometimes. I am sorry.”

Catelyn thought about just how much Marni had lost. “I understand,” she said, taking the other girl’s hand. “You know you can come to me, don’t you, Marni? I was once a stranger here, too. But like me, you and Arryk have a home here in Winterfell now.”

The maid actually looked more distressed at those words. She shook her head sadly. “You can’t understand, milady,” she said softly. “Some people can never have homes, and some don’t get to choose.”

“I don’t understand. What do you mean by that?”

“Nothing, milady. I’m sorry. Things just get to me sometimes. Forget about this, please. I will be better.”

“Has someone been unkind to you or treated you improperly?” Ned didn’t tolerate mistreatment of any of the maids or serving girls in Winterfell, but Catelyn knew well enough that a few men would try to get away with whatever they could.

“No, milady,” Marni said firmly. “I . . .I did have a bit of an argument with my brother. Likely, that just has me upset. That’s all it is. I must go now, though. I have work to do.”

Catelyn sighed, still feeling as if her maid was keeping something back. “All right, Marni. But please, come to the sept whenever you like.”

Marni nodded and started to go. Just at the door, she turned back, “Lady Stark,” she said suddenly. “You do know that I love little Robb, right? You know that I’ll never allow any harm to him. If he’s with me, he’s safe. You know that, don’t you, milady?”

Catelyn couldn’t imagine what prompted those words. Marni had always taken excellent care of Robb, and the affection between her son and the maid was obvious. She simply nodded. “Of course,” she said.

Marni nodded once. “You’ve been better to me than I deserve, milady!” she said in a rush, before nearly running from the sept.

Catelyn knelt before the statue of the Mother and prayed. Her encounter with Marni had left her feeling slightly off balance, and when she finished her prayers, she walked to the Great Hall in anticipation of seeing her lord husband, hoping to set her day back on a familiar course by breaking her fast with him. He often left her chambers before she rose, even if he did sleep there more often than not, simply because he was by nature a very early riser. Still, he generally waited to break his fast until she could join him, occupying himself with various tasks before coming to the Hall only when he knew she would be likely to arrive soon. They never discussed this apparently mutual desire to dine together. They just did it.

When she entered the Great Hall, however, Ned wasn’t there, and her heart fell more than she wanted to admit even to herself. He must have eaten and left already. She never arrived to the Great Hall before him in the morning. She walked toward her place, forcing herself to smile at all the people who would bow their heads and greet her with a courteous, “Good morning, Lady Stark,” and trying to not to be disappointed or hurt. Likely, something had simply demanded his attention. He was the lord, after all.

“Mama!”

The high pitched, gleeful shout turned Catelyn around in her tracks, and she laughed out loud when she saw her solemn faced husband striding into the Hall with her fiery haired son seated on his shoulders, banging excitedly on his father’s head with one hand as he bounced and squirmed and called out to her again. “Mama!”

She walked quickly to meet them and could see the obvious amusement in Ned’s eyes when she got closer. Once, she would not have recognized that, but she was getting better at reading her husband’s sometimes almost imperceptible changes in facial expression. She reached up for Robb, and Ned bent down, allowing her to lift the child from his shoulders.

“I fear he was giving Etta fits this morning. Apparently no one but his lady mother would do for the little lordling,” Ned told her, reaching out to ruffle Robb’s hair as she held him there.

“And how does his lord father come to have him, then?” she asked, smiling.

“I heard him,” he said with a small laugh. “I imagine everyone in the Keep heard him. I was leaving my solar to come here, and instead I went to rescue poor Etta from the tyrant in the nursery. He was less than pleased that I did not bring him at once to you, but we got on well enough.”

“You should have come to find me, my lord,” she chided him as they began walking toward their seats. “I know what a devil the child can be when he takes a fit.”

“I knew you were at your devotions, my lady. I would not have you disturbed.” He smiled then, mostly with his eyes, but the corners of his mouth twitched upwards. “Besides, I believe I am capable of managing my son for at least a short span of time.”

“Undoubtedly, my lord,” Catelyn said, smiling up at him.

As the two of them attempted to break their fasts with Robb bouncing back and forth between their laps and putting his little hands into both of their plates, Catelyn found herself spending more time laughing than eating. She loved watching Ned’s face become less and less guarded as Robb grabbed his nose or tried to stuff an entire loaf of bread into his mouth, and she imagined how his face might look as he beheld their next son newly born. He hadn’t gotten to do that with Robb. She decided it was indeed time to tell him of the babe in her belly. Tonight, in her chambers, she would tell him.

“My lady?” She had been looking down at her hands folded over her belly, and she raised her eyes to find him looking at her quizzically.

“Yes, my lord?”

He smiled. “You had a faraway look on your face just then, but a very lovely expression. Where were you?”

She returned the smile. “Right here, my lord. I was only thinking how happy I am to be here. I am . . .a most fortunate woman.”

He reached for her hand under the table then and seemed about to say something more when Jory Cassel’s voice called out, “Lord Stark!”

Ned and Catelyn both turned to see Jory striding toward them purposefully. At eighteen, Ser Rodrik’s nephew had grown quite a bit taller than he’d been when she’d met him at Riverrun when he came with Ned and the Winterfell men for her wedding. He was a pleasant young man, reportedly fierce in a fight, but always quick with his smiles in Catelyn’s presence. He was not smiling now.

“What is it, Jory?” Ned asked when the young man reached their table.

“Maester Luwin sent me, my lord,” Jory responded without hesitation. “There’s been a raven. From King’s Landing.”

Catelyn felt the light hearted atmosphere of moments ago evaporate completely. Ravens from King’s Landing came infrequently, but they always darkened her husband’s mood. While the king had made no further overt demands of Ned to hand over Lyanna’s son or to send their own son to King’s Landing, correspondence from the Red Keep did always manage to allude to the fact that Ned’s loyalties were still questioned. Twice, the letters had specifically inquired about the welfare of Jon Snow, even asking about his location.

Ned answered every letter from King’s Landing, but he certainly did not answer every question, and he was withdrawn and somber for days after each of them arrived. Catelyn knew he resented the fact that his nephew, who was innocent of any crime save existing, had to be kept hidden away rather than at Winterfell. She also knew he mourned the loss of his friendship with Robert Baratheon more than most people here realized. He had lost so much--his father, Brandon, Lyanna. Robert had been like a brother to him, and while the man may still be alive, that brother was as lost to Ned now as his dead family members were.

She never asked about the boy, Jon Snow. Ned could tell her little, and being reminded of the child only served to cause him pain. A few ravens came from Greywater Watch, just as they arrived from the other northern seats, but they never mentioned the boy. Ned had traveled to Greywater Watch twice since his return to Winterfell, just as he had traveled to the mountain clans and to the castles of other lords sworn to him. Catelyn figured that, all totaled, he’d been away nearly a third of the time since he’d originally come home from King’s Landing. Of course, when he went to Greywater Watch, he did see the boy, but she alone had certain knowledge of that, whatever others may suspect.

After those visits, he’d come home very silent and sad, telling her only that his nephew grew well and was very much a Stark. He seemed pleased by that, and it always awakened her own insecurities about Robb’s appearance. He seemed to look more like Edmure daily, and while she knew how Ned adored their son, she still wondered if his Tully looks disappointed him somehow. The one thing Catelyn had been grateful for when her little brother had returned to Riverrun was that she no longer had to hear the constant remarks about how Robb was his very image. Whatever he looked like, Robb was as much a Stark as this child hidden away in the marshes of the Neck. More of a Stark, for he was Lord Eddard’s trueborn son and heir to Winterfell.

“I’ll have a look at it in my solar, Jory. Tell Maester Luwin to bring it there.” Ned’s voice was deep, formal, and almost expressionless. Catelyn had come to think of that particular voice as his ‘lord’s voice,’ and he was wearing the grey, icy face that went with it. She had not learned to read his expressions when he was like this. He turned to her, and the lord’s face stayed in place as he said, “I must take my leave of you, my lady.”

She tried not to let it hurt that he could close himself off to her as easily as to others in the castle. She tried, but she didn’t quite succeed. “Of course, my lord. I will accompany you back to the Great Keep and take your son up to the nursery.”

He nodded absently, and while he gave her his arm as they walked out of the Hall, he did not offer to hold Robb, and he remained silent throughout the entire distance to the Great Keep. She knew he was far away from her, already dreading reading and replying to the latest cold missive from the man who was once his brother.

A little while later, she sat on the floor of the nursery with Robb, playing a game with her sewing chest where he threw every spool of thread out of it and then ran around the room as quickly as his little legs could carry him, picking them up and putting them back in. Her part consisted largely of clapping for him and making certain none of her spools rolled away and became lost.

Etta’s laughter made her look up toward the door. “I sometimes wish you’d never showed him that, milady. He keeps me at it for hours, and I don’t do as well crawling around on the floor as I once did.”

Catelyn smiled up at her. “Well, when he troubles you to keep at it for too long, find Marni and make her crawl after the spools. She’ll oblige you, I’m sure.”

Etta frowned then, and Catelyn felt that same unease she’d felt in the sept earlier that morning. “What is it, Etta?”

The older woman shook her head. “Nothing, milady, I’m sure. It’s only that I heard Marni arguing with that brother of hers last night. I didn’t mean to listen. I didn’t. But she kept saying that she wouldn’t do it, and he was telling her she had to.” Etta frowned. “When I asked her about it later, she said it was nothing. Some old argument about him finding her a husband, but she seemed . . .I don’t know. I suppose I’m just an old woman seeing troubles where there aren’t any.”

Catelyn looked at the frown on Etta’s face, and frowned herself. “I’m not so certain, Etta. Earlier this morning . . .”

Before she could say more, the older woman clapped her hand over her mouth with a dismayed gasp. “Oh, milady! I am a silly old woman. I lost myself in our sweet little lordling’s play and in idle gossip when I was sent to give you a message from Lord Eddard!”

“Lord Eddard?” Catelyn asked, rising from the floor, all thoughts of Marni leaving her mind. “What does my lord husband need?”

“You, my lady. He asked that you come to his solar right away.”

Catelyn was halfway to the door when a spool of thread hit her in the lower back, and Robb cackled at the success of his throw, reaching into the chest for another one. She would have to do something with him.

“I’ll watch your son, milady,” Etta said. “My knees can take this game for awhile.”

As the older woman slowly bent down and rolled one of the spools back at Robb, Catelyn touched her shoulder gratefully. “Thank you, Etta. I shall try not to be too long.”

She went quickly to her lord husband’s solar. He asked her there not infrequently to discuss matters pertaining to Winterfell for she was responsible for a great deal of the castle’s daily functioning, and she used the solar herself to manage things when he was on his travels. Benjen still helped her a great deal whenever Ned was gone, but at some point in time, she had taken to sitting in her husband’s seat at the desk during his absences, and she thought Ben preferred it that way. He truly did have no desire to be a lord, she had found, and he preferred merely to act as her assistant just as he did for Ned. Lately, he’d made more and more comments about joining the Night’s Watch. Ned had refused to discuss it until he was at least six and ten, but that name day was coming sooner than Catelyn would like. Edmure had returned to Riverrun. Her Uncle Brynden had left even before that to take up his post in the Vale. Ben had begun to feel as much her brother as Ned’s, and she dreaded the thought of him leaving her as well.

She was puzzled at this summons, for Ned rarely asked her counsel on correspondence or matters of politics outside Winterfell. When he did, it was generally during conversation in her chambers in the evening rather than as part of an actual council in his solar. He had never asked her to contribute to his responses to letters from King’s Landing. She rather thought that he kept his own counsel entirely where those were concerned.

She rapped on the door and opened it when she heard his voice bid her enter. He was seated at his desk. Maester Luwin and Ser Rodrik were also present. Benjen wasn’t there, and she remembered that he had ridden out to Castle Cerwyn yesterday and not yet returned.

“You asked for me, my lord?” she said to him.

He looked up from the parchment spread before him. “Yes, my lady. This concerns you as well as myself.” He looked grim, and she swallowed.

“What is it, my lord?” she asked, not moving from where she stood just inside the door.

Ned truly looked at her then, and she saw his lord’s face slip just a bit, saw the slightest softening of his features. “Catelyn,” he said softly. “Come and sit down, my lady.”

He rarely called her by her name in front of others, even men as close to the Starks as Maester Luwin and Ser Rodrik, and she was both touched by his concern for her and more frightened than before as she seated herself in a chair beside his.

“Read this, my lady,” her husband said, handing her the parchment.

It was brief and to the point so it didn’t take her long to read it. She laid it down and looked back at her husband. “The Queen has given birth to a son,” she said quietly.

Ned nodded.

“And we are to attend a feast in honor of the heir to the Iron Throne. In King’s Landing.” She swallowed.

“That’s a summons, my lady. Not an invitation,” Ned said darkly.

Now, it was her turn to nod. She’d understood that well enough. “What shall we do, my lord?” she asked him.

“You and Robb shall remain right where you are,” he said through gritted teeth. “My wife and son are not playthings for Robert to summon to him upon a whim.”

“The letter does not mention Robb, my lord.”

“No. But would you willingly leave him?”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.

Ned nodded again. “He knows that bloody well enough. And, in truth, it doesn’t matter, my lady. I’ll not have you hauled into King’s Landing to be badgered and questioned about things which are none of your doing--with or without our son!”

“I suppose these . . .invitations . . .have gone out to all the High Lords?” Catelyn asked.

“I would imagine that is the case,” Ned said.

“Then our absence could be construed as an insult to the crown, my lord! Given what occurred at the end of the war, people might use that to speak against you.”

“Do you think I am unaware of that, my lady?” He sounded angry, but she did not think his anger was truly at her. “Would that many things had happened differently at the end of the war, but unfortunately, events unfolded as they did. Now we must find a way to proceed without endangering either of the children.”

 _Either of the children._ He did that too often on the occasions the boy was mentioned--spoke of him as if his welfare were of equal consideration to Robb’s. It wasn’t. Not to her. She had never even met the child, and the fact that his very existence put her son in danger did little to endear him to her. Sometimes she wondered if it would not have been better had her husband’s original plan succeeded. Had she and the rest of the world simply known Jon Snow as Eddard Stark’s bastard, she might have suffered the indignity of having a bastard under her roof and harbored resentment against her husband because of it. Yet, her son would not be constantly under threat of being used as a hostage to the crown to keep his Targaryen bred cousin away from the Iron Throne. Bitterly, Catelyn thought that she did sometimes resent Ned’s bringing the boy out of Dorne even though she knew he could never have left him to die and be the man she had come to love.

“How do you intend to do that, my lord?” she asked him now.

“I will go to King’s Landing,” he said.

“Without me? You would willingly hand yourself over to that pit of vipers even as you disobey this directive where I am concerned? My lord, you endanger yourself in this!”

“Lady Stark speaks truly,” Maester Luwin put in, his quiet voice much calmer than Catelyn’s.

Ned sighed. “Jon Arryn is there. He will do his part to rein in any wrath on Robert’s part. And there are any number of reasons why my lady wife legitimately might not travel to King’s Landing.”

Catelyn bit her lip, knowing she could give him a very good reason without the need for prevarication. Somehow, telling him of the babe in this setting just seemed too wrong to bear thinking about. Robert Baratheon’s paranoia about Rhaegar Targaryen’s child had stolen enough from them. She refused to allow it to take even the slightest amount of joy from her husband’s learning he was to be a father again. Surely, he would not send his response to King’s Landing right away. She hoped that he could still come up with a way to respectfully decline the ‘invitation’ for both of them, although she could not see any. The thought of sending him there terrified her, but if he had to go, she would send him with the knowledge that another little Stark already awaited him here at Winterfell. She would tell him tonight, in the privacy of her chambers and give him what comfort she could.

Before she did that, however, she had to offer him what little protection she could. “My lord,” she said. “It is true I do not wish to leave Robb. However, if it would keep you safer for us both to journey to King’s Landing, then I know our son would be well cared for and protected here in Winterfell. Benjen . . .”

“No.” The single word seemed to echo forcefully through the solar although he hadn’t actually raised his voice. He took her hand, something else he did not normally do openly except in the most formal of ways. “Catelyn,” he said softly, looking only at her. “I will not risk you. I do not doubt your courage or resolve, but I will not risk you.”

She nodded wordlessly, and he squeezed her hand slightly before releasing it and turning toward the two men. “Given the distance we will need to travel, our party will have to leave within a week in order to ensure our arrival in King’s Landing in time. Damn the man! There is much I need to do here. As soon as Ben arrives back in the castle, I’ll need him sent to me. Ser Rodrik, if you could begin thinking of what men should make up the travel party . . .I intend to go well accompanied. My lady’s concerns are not without merit, and I will not ride into King’s Landing without a good number of my own men.”

Ser Rodrik nodded grimly. “We shall see that you have the best. Jory will want to ride with you, of course.”

“And I shall most certainly want him,” Ned said. “If you could see Vayon about preparations for the journey, I would have my lady wife and Maester Luwin remain here with me to discuss matters of Winterfell during the moons I will be away.”

 _Moons_ , Catelyn thought. _At least a moon and likely longer for travel each way, and gods only know how long Ned will be_ _expected to tarry in King’s Landing._ He’d been gone for over two moons on a couple of his travels in the North, but as much as she’d hated those separations, she dreaded this one far more. For one thing, her feelings for her husband were far stronger now, and she knew she’d miss him painfully. More than that though, was the simple fact that King’s Landing was not the North. Ned would not be arriving as the well respected lord of his hosts, but as the defiant vassal who had angered his host the king.

She forced herself to attend to Ned’s words rather than her own worries. She could see his anger at Robert Baratheon plainly enough, his fury at being placed in this position. Yet, he kept it suppressed and spoke calmly with Maester Luwin and herself about things that would need doing in his absence. She owed him her attention. If he could do what must be done, so could she.

She was unsure how long the three of them had sat there together looking over calendars and ledgers when a knock came at the door. “Come in!” Ned called without looking up.

The door opened, and Etta appeared, her expression uncharacteristically flustered. “Forgive me, milord, milady. Is young Robb here with you?”

Catelyn felt a wave of panic. “I left him with you, Etta. Of course, he is not here! Where is my son?”

“I . . .Marni was with him, milady. I only left them for a moment. When I returned to the nursery, they were gone. I thought perhaps she had brought him to you.”

“No. She did not.” Likely, the child had gotten restless, and Marni had taken him somewhere else to entertain him or even to the kitchens in search of a snack. “Perhaps, the kitchens,” she suggested to Etta. Yet, even as she spoke the words, she thought of her encounter with Marni in the sept, and a cold dread came over her.

“Ned,” she said suddenly. “Send men to close the gates.”

“What?” he asked her, confused by the request.

“Please,” she begged him. “Just do it. And Etta, run check the kitchens. And tell everyone you meet to stop whatever they are doing and look for my son.” She remembered what Etta had told her earlier. “And find Arryk!”

“Yes, my lady!” Etta was concerned, too. She was out of the solar before Ned could ask any more questions.

Now, Ned leaned over and put his hands on her arms, and Catelyn realized she was shaking. “Catelyn . . .” he said, but the concern in his eyes was for her more than for Robb.

“The gates, Ned!” she said again, hearing the panic in her own voice.

Ned looked at Maester Luwin and nodded once. “Go,” he said, and the maester hurriedly left the solar.

Ned turned back to her. “Cat,” he said, brushing her face with his fingers now that they were alone. “What do you fear? This is unlike you. Marni has taken Robb to play any number of times. They are likely in the courtyard or godswood if they haven’t gone to the kitchens. You are simply upset about . . .”

“No!” she interrupted him. She stood up, feeling faint, but unable to remain still. “This is different, Ned. I saw Marni in the sept this morning. She was crying. She talked about not having a home and not having choices. And then she told me she wanted me to know Robb would always be safe with her. She had no reason to tell me any of that Ned! She was acting so strangely! And now . . .” Tears began spilling from her eyes. “Oh gods, Ned! She’s taken our son!”

Ned stood as well then. “She has no reason. Why would she do such a thing?”

Catelyn shook her head unable to speak, and Ned took her hand. “Come, my lady. We will find our son and get to the bottom of this.” In spite of his calm words, she could tell that he was becoming concerned as well.

Just as they stepped out the door into the courtyard, Jory Cassel came running toward them. “My lord! What has happened? Maester Luwin asked that I order the gates closed, and Etta asked me to bring you Arryk, the stonemason from Stoney Sept. But Arryk went out the gates more than half an hour ago.”

Catelyn gave a strangled cry and would have collapsed to the ground had Ned not gripped her tightly. “Was he alone?” she heard him ask Jory.

“Yes, my lord. He had a large covered cart pulled by two horses. Said he was going out to get fieldstones for repair of one of the walls along the godswood. The guards harassed him about southroners being poor judges of horseflesh because he’d hooked his cart to two beasts better suited for riding than pulling heavy loads.”

Catelyn watched the color drain from her husband’s face. “Jory, get the two fastest horses you can find for you and myself. Then fetch your sword.” He turned to bark at a boy of about twelve whom he obviously recognized on sight. “You, Martyn, bring me Ice.”

The boy’s eyes opened widely, but he ran to do as Ned had ordered.

“My lord?” Jory asked.

“That man has taken my son.” Ned’s voice was as cold as winter itself.

Jory looked pale now. “Arryk . . .he’s a mason by trade, but he’s good with a bow, my lord. No doubt, he’ll have one. We should take archers.”

“If they can mount up and ride now. I cannot wait another minute. He must not be allowed any more head start.”

As Jory ran to do his bidding, shouting orders at some other men as he went, Ned turned back to Catelyn. “Now, my lady, tell me everything you remember concerning Marni and her brother today.”

Breathlessly, with her heart pounding, Catelyn recounted everything she could recall about Marni’s behavior and words in the sept and what Etta had told her about the argument between Marni and Arryk.

“Stoney Sept,” Ned muttered furiously when she’d finished speaking. “They came as spies, not refugees. Gods damn the man! I will kill him!”

“Arryk?”

“Robert!” Ned thundered, and Catelyn realized it was the only thing that made sense. “He demanded I hand over Robb when he had me in his cell. He sent men after you and Robb at Riverrun. He’s only been biding his time all these moons!” He turned and slammed his fist against the door of the Keep behind them.

“Ned,” Catelyn said helplessly. She could see Jory already coming back toward them, leading two mounts from the direction of the stables while several boys ran around the horses, adusting the tack even as the entire group moved forward. The boy who’d been sent for the greatsword nearly ran into Ned as he emerged from the Great Keep, struggling with the huge black blade in its sheath. Ned took it from him wordlessly and strapped it around him so the sword hung over his back.

He turned toward her and his grey eyes were darker than she’d ever seen them. “My lady,” he said, his face grim and his jaw muscles tensed. “I will return with your son. I swear it.”

He then turned away and mounted the waiting horse, kicking it hard and riding across the courtyard toward the gate at a gallop. Jory followed immediately, and Catelyn was vaguely aware of two men with bows slung across their backs who came riding after.

As the sound of hoofbeats faded away, she sank to her knees in front of the Great Keep, terror in her heart, and her empty arms aching for her son.

 


	9. Eddard

Ned’s heart pounded louder than the hooves of his horse as he galloped toward the gate. Either it had never been closed or Jory had sent someone to re-open it, for there was no barrier as he sped out of Winterfell. _My son,_ he thought. _They’ve taken_ _my son._ He kicked the horse harder, desperate to apprehend the bastard who’d stolen Robb away. As he urged the horse onto the Kingsroad and southward, he became dimly aware of someone shouting his name.

“Lord Stark! Lord Stark, wait!”

Jory’s voice called after him. _Wait?_ He couldn’t wait. He could think of nothing but getting Robb back. Rage and fear raced each other through his troubled mind and left no time for waiting.

“You must stop, my lord, please!” Jory shouted again. “We don’t know which way he’s gone!”

 _King’s Landing,_ Ned thought bitterly. _To Robert in King’s Landing. That’s where he’s gone!_ As his panicked fury continued to propel him forward, it suddenly occurred to Ned that this is how Brandon must have felt. Someone had come to him and told him Lyanna had been stolen, and he’d ridden south with no thought for anything save recovering her and killing the man who took her. And he had died for it. And Lyanna had died. And the Seven Kingdoms had bled.

Shaking, he pulled back on the reins, slowing his horse. _Forgive me, Brandon_ , he thought bitterly, _for thinking you foolish and_ _rash. For not understanding._ As his horse came to a stop, Jory came up beside him.

“Forgive me, my lord,” he said. “I only wish to know your thoughts and to have a plan for our pursuit of Arryk. You think he had his sister and young Robb in the cart when he left Winterfell?”

Ned nodded, his heart rate and breathing still faster than normal. “He will head for King’s Landing, Jory. It is Robert Baratheon that wants Robb. I know it.”

Jory’s eyes widened, but he only nodded. “But how will he get there? Surely he knows he’ll be pursued. He likely won’t ride openly down the Kingsroad, my lord. How do we know he will follow the course of the Kingsroad at all? He could ride for White Harbor to take a ship. He may even have a boat waiting on the White Knife.”

Jory’s concerns were all very reasonable, but Ned still had to struggle against the urge to simply continue riding south as quickly as the horse could carry him. He breathed deeply to steady himself, fighting to calm his mind. _I am not Brandon. For Robb’s sake, I must not be_. “I do not think he will go to White Harbor,” he said after a moment. “A raven from Winterfell would arrive there long before the man could hope to ride there, and Lord Manderly is well known to be leal to House Stark. He would close down his harbor before he’d allow my son to be taken from the North that way. As for a boat . . .” He shook his head slowly. “Arryk and Marni are not from here. He would have no knowledge of navigating the White Knife and had he sought to hire a boatman, we’d have heard. He’s obviously a southroner, and you know as well as I the deep suspicion with which all northmen view anyone from below the Neck. No. He’ll ride for King’s Landing.”

Two more men from Winterfell had ridden up to them now, and Ned saw they both carried bows. Jory had done his best to prepare for this pursuit, however reckless Ned had been in his departure. Both of those men stopped at a respectful distance, awaiting whatever orders might come from Jory or Ned after their discussion.

“You are likely right that they will stay off the road,” Ned continued, “But they will likely not stray far from it. They do not know the land here and cannot risk getting lost. If I were Arryk, I would have abandoned the cart at first opportunity and then ridden with some haste to put some distance between myself and Winterfell before pursuit could be expected. After that, I’d look for somewhere to hide--plan to travel more by night and hide by day.”

Jory nodded. “That’s sensible, my lord. I don’t know Arryk well, but I don’t think the man’s a fool.”

“He isn’t,” Ned said grimly. “Robert would not have sent a fool. Although I do wonder why he acted now rather than waiting to see if I would go to Robert’s feast and leave Robb at the castle without me.” Ned swore under his breath, becoming impatient with talk as he imagined his son being carried further away by the moment. “Such speculation serves little purpose, though. He did take my son now, and we must get him back.”

Jory looked at Ned cautiously. “My lord,” he said hesitantly. “Are we certain Robb has been taken? There was hardly time to search the entire castle and . . .”

“I am certain, Jory,” Ned said. “Lady Catelyn is not given to fits of panic, and she is convinced of it. She has good reasons, and beyond that I have never known her to be wrong about anything concerning our son. She simply knows things about him.”

Jory nodded as if that were good enough for him. “At any rate, Arryk did pull his cart onto the Kingsroad and head south just as we are doing. The men at the gate could tell me that.”

“Very well. He would not have abandoned the cart anywhere he thought he might be seen. Let’s ride as quickly as we can until we can no longer see Winterfell behind us, and then we can split up, each taking a bowman and look for the cart or any sign of them on either side of the road.”

Jory nodded again and motioned the other two riders forward. The four of them turned southward and rode as hard as they could until Winterfell disappeared, and Ned took some small comfort in the fact that Arryk must have covered that same distance much more slowly with a woman and small child in a cart pulled by two horses not bred or trained for the task. Surely, they were gaining ground.

Once they split up and began to search meticulously in the fields and groves alongside the road, however, he was dismayed by the slowness of their progress. It was a good two hours before he found the cart, wedged behind a thick stand of evergreens. He sent his companion to find Jory and his man and bring them here, and then he dismounted and walked to the cart. When he picked up a coarse blanket that had been left inside it, he heard something fall to the wooden floor of the cart with a thud. When he saw what it was, his knees went weak. He reached out and grasped the small wooden knight before sinking down to sit upon the ground.

His fingers traced the small indentations made on the carved figure by Robb’s sharp little teeth. Catelyn had been dismayed when he’d started biting the toy, one of the gifts he’d received from their bannermen, saying it was far too nice to be used as a teether. Ned remembered laughing and telling her that he would far prefer their son sink his teeth into the little wooden man than into her flesh when the boy’s gums pained him. He’d dubbed the knight Ser Biscuit, and she’d laughed her musical laugh and handed the toy back to Robb with great ceremony. Then she’d laughed again as Robb promptly popped the little man into his mouth and began to chew. “I don’t think Ser Biscuit shall prevail against this particular monster, my lord,” she’d teased, smiling at him. Ned felt his heart being torn apart as he thought of that day, and he held Ser Biscuit tightly now. Robb hadn’t slept without the little knight in at least a year. _How will my son sleep tonight?_

Sounds in the brush nearby alerted him that his men approached, and he hastily stood up, forcing his grief and his fear deep down inside him. “Jory!” he called, and Jory and the other two soon walked up to him.

“That’s the cart,” Jory said. “I’ve seen it at Winterfell before.”

“I know it is,” Ned said grimly, holding up the wooden toy.

“Ser Biscuit,” Jory breathed, and Ned saw the last doubt in Jory’s mind that Robb had indeed been taken vanish.

“You know his name?”

Jory actually laughed. “Everyone who’s spent any time at all around Robb knows his name. He says it often enough. I didn’t quite understand him, but Marni told me . . .” His voice trailed off as he realized he was speaking of the woman who was now one of Robb’s kidnappers. “It . . .is hard to believe, my lord.”

“Mayhaps,” Ned said. “But it is true, all the same. Now we must see if we can discern where they’ve gone from here.”

“I believe I can tell you that, my lord!” Ned looked up to see the bowman who had been with Jory standing about twenty paces away holding the branch of a tree in his hands. “They rode through here. I can see it in the crush on these leaves, and up there . . .” He pointed. “Where the ground is softer, I found a hoofprint.”

Ned walked to the man. Having had it pointed out to him, he could see the minor breakage in the foliage where horses had brushed against it, but he would never have seen it himself.

“What is your name?” he asked the man. He knew most of the men in Winterfell by sight, but he did not recognize this one.

“Gil, my lord. Of Clan Norrey. I just came to take up service at Winterfell a few days ago. When they started shouting for men as could shoot to come along, I figured I might be useful.”

Ned nodded. “If you’re a Norrey, I’ve no doubt you’re marksman with that bow. It seems you’re a fine tracker, too, Gil. Can you follow them?”

The man shrugged. “So far as I can. Stupid southron left an obvious enough trail for anyone who’s looking. If he doesn’t get any smarter, I can track him right into his sleepsack.

“Well, I’d say you’ve just made yourself far more than useful, Gil. Let’s get the horses and we’ll follow your lead.”

After another several hours of painstakingly slow progress in a generally southward direction, leading their mounts as often as riding on them, Ned, Jory, and the bowman named Darryn stood watching Gil as he crouched down, carefully lifting soil up and sifting it through his fingers just in front of his face. An hour before that, Gil had admitted that Arryk appeared to be smarter than he initially thought--taking time to lay down false trails as he went. But he assured them they were still following the right one.

Looking at the man now, Ned thought that perhaps he was no longer so certain. Finally the clansman stood up. “I believe we should go this way,” he said, pointing slightly to their left.

Ned frowned. “You believe?” He looked carefully at the direction the man indicated. “That is almost perpendicular to the direction of the road through here. Are you certain?”

“I am not certain, my lord,” the man said bluntly. “I believe that is the direction they took, but as you say, it is a change. Prior to now, they have been essentially following the course of the road even as they stay out of sight of it.” He looked back toward the right. “There are some signs leading that way, but they are more like what I’ve seen on the false trails and the places the man has doubled back.” He shook his head. “I could perhaps follow this other trail for a bit to be more certain while you go the way I believe they went my lord. I can find you easily enough and join you should my thought prove correct or bring you back this way if I am wrong.”

“You do not think you are wrong,” Ned said. It was not really a question.

“I do not, my lord.”

Ned pressed his lips together. He couldn’t stay here. He had to go forward in some direction or another, and he doubted his own ability to accurately follow Arryk‘s and Marni’s trail, especially if they changed direction again without seeming purpose. He put his hand in the pocket of his coat and closed his fingers around the little wooden knight. “We shall all remain together and follow the trail you believe is correct.”

It was well into the evening when when they stopped again, having gone well west of the Kingsroad. Gil seemed confident, however, and their progress had been much quicker the past couple hours. They’d actually ridden their horses more than they’d walked, and they stopped this time as much to rest the horses briefly as anything else. They all dismounted, and Jory wordlessly took some bread from one of his saddlebags and broke off some for all of them. Ned had no appetite, but he forced himself to chew and swallow. He would do his son no good by fainting from hunger.

The sun was beginning to sink low in the sky, and Ned felt ice creep around his heart. Gil couldn’t track in the dark. Surely, Arryk would have to stop soon. While traveling in the dark might be the best way to avoid capture, it would be difficult with a woman and a child less not quite two years old, especially as it did not appear to Gil that they had stopped for any length of time throughout the day.

As if the man were reading his thoughts, Gil came up to him then. “We are getting much closer, my lord,” he said softly. “They came through here not long ago. In truth, I fear we may need to go as quietly as we can from here, for we may approach close enough that they might hear us.”

Those words gave Ned hope. They also made him impatient to start once again. “Come on,” he said to the others in a sort of harsh whisper. “We cannot remain here any longer. We shall go forward cautiously for the sun will soon set, and the man may soon decide to stop and rest.”

No one made any objections. The four men mounted up, and proceeded forward very slowly. After a bit, the horizon turned pink and then grey in the west, and the stars became visible in the darkening sky. Just as Gil turned back to say something, a loud wail pierced the cool air and knifed right through Ned’s heart.

“Mama!”

Caution was no longer a word that held meaning for him. His son was there. His son was crying for his mother. He kicked his horse and sped ahead of Gil.

“My lord!” the Norrey man hissed as he rode past him, but Ned did not stop. He couldn’t stop.

Robb was still crying. He could hear him screaming for Catelyn above the sound of his horse’s hooves and above the seemingly louder pounding of his own heart. Then he heard a man shout. “I told you to keep the brat quiet! He could wake the dead!”

“He’ll be dead if you don’t let me stop and feed him,” a woman wailed. “Please, Arryk!”

“He won’t starve in a day! Put something in his mouth to shut him up, and then we have to keep moving. They’ll be after us, you know.”

The voices were quite close, although vision was getting tricky in the last light of dusk, and Ned couldn’t always tell the trees from the shadows of trees. He stopped his horse and climbed off it, pulling Ice from its sheath and gripping it tightly in his hands as he moved toward the voices, guided more by his ears than his eyes at this point.

When he reached the edge of a small clearing in the trees, he stopped suddenly. Ahead, he could see two people on horseback, their features hidden in shadow. One of them obviously held a small child in front of her, though, and Ned closed his mouth tightly to keep from shouting. Robb seemed to be loosely bound to the woman who held him, but he was wiggling vigorously and she struggled to hold on to him while appearing to be holding something to his mouth.

“No!” he shouted, smacking at her hand. “Want Mama!”

“He isn’t going to eat. Put your hand over his mouth, and let’s go.”

“I can’t put my . . .”

“Then give him to me. I’ll keep him quiet.” He reached his arms toward Robb.

“No!” the woman shrieked, twisting to hold Robb away from him.

Ned was just about to rush forward when a quiet voice spoke beside him. “I can take him, my lord.”

Gil Norrey was there with an arrow already strung on his bow.

“I need him alive . . .for now. I need to know all of what this is,” Ned growled.

Norrey nodded and loosed the arrow.

It struck Arryk high on his right arm causing him to shout and draw it back against him painfully. Faster than Ned would have thought possible, Gil had strung and fired another arrow hitting the man in the left thigh causing him to jerk his foot from the stirrup. At almost the same time, another arrow came from somewhere to the right and hit the flank of his horse, causing it to rear. Darryn must have fired as well.

Arryk showed surprising strength, though. Even as he was being thrown from his horse, he reached out with his wounded right arm to grab for Robb. Marni screamed again and twisted more to shield the boy, but Arryk’s hand caught her hair, yanking her and Robb both off of the horse. All three of them fell to the ground, and Ned saw Marni’s head hit hard, her neck twisting at an impossible angle. The screaming horses were stomping about the fallen riders, and he couldn’t see Robb.

He ran forward and waved Ice at Marni’s terrified mount causing it to shy away just before it could bring its front feet down where Marni and his son lay. His son had to be there somewhere, and he prayed he had not been badly injured in the fall. He felt something grab at his leg, and looked down to see Arryk staring up at him in the dim light, eyes glazed with pain and rage. He started to bring Ice down on the man’s neck, just barely remembering that he needed him alive for a bit longer and twisting the blade so that the flat struck him hard on the shoulder and Arryk fell away.

He then fell upon the ground himself where Marni lay, her neck obviously broken. He rolled her body slightly and saw Robb, curled half beneath her, still cradled by one of her arms and cushioned by her cloak.

“Robb, Robb!” Ned wanted to grasp his son to him, but he was fearful of moving him in case he had some grave injury.

But then Robb pushed himself up to sit, hampered somewhat in his movements by the cloths still binding him loosely to the dead maid. “Papa?” he asked hazily, looking up at Ned.

“Yes, Robb, it’s Papa!” Ned exclaimed joyfully, picking him up then and holding him tightly against his chest. “Papa’s got you, sweet boy.” His eyes pricked and he realized they were filled with tears. He couldn’t remember crying since Lyanna’s death, and even then he hadn’t allowed himself many tears. While Starks were no strangers to grief, they rarely expressed it openly. These tears, however, were pure relief and joy, and he made no attempt to stop them. “You’re safe, Robb. Papa’s got you,” he kept repeating, rocking his son back and forth.

Gradually he became aware that Robb had begun struggling in his arms, and he held him away far enough to look at his little face. “Papa?” Robb said again, screwing up his little face into a frown.

“Yes, son. Papa’s here.”

Robb’s frowning little mouth began to tremble. “Want Mama!” he wailed and began crying and pummeling Ned with this little fists. Ned simply threw back his head and laughed, hugging his very unhappy, but miraculously unharmed son tightly once more.

While Ned tended to Robb, having finally gotten him to stop crying by producing Ser Biscuit from his pocket, Jory tightly bound Arryk, stating that the man’s wounds would certainly be painful, but not fatal over night. Ned had decreed they would camp here for the night, deal with the prisoner first thing in the morning and ride back for Winterfell. They could make much better time riding along the road and should easily make it back before sunset on the morrow. One sleepless night wondering about the fate of their son was already far more than Catelyn should suffer, and he would not have her spend a second one.

He took the first watch as the others lay down to sleep, holding a sleepy Robb on his shoulder, wrapped in fur. He didn’t want to let go of him until he handed him into his mother’s arms, but he knew he would have to give him to one of the other men on the morrow for a bit. He wanted his young son nowhere around when he dealt with his kidnapper.

When his watch ended, he lay down with his son in his arms and tried to think only of the joy he would see on his lady wife’s face when he returned Robb to her unharmed at Winterfell, but darker thoughts would not be kept away. Robert had sent a thug after his child. Arryk would have killed Robb rather than willingly given him up. Ned was sure of that. Whether that had been Robert’s intent or no, Ned knew he was behind this kidnapping. Any harm to Robb would have ultimately rested on him, and a cold fury toward the man he had called brother continued to build within him, making sleep impossible.

With the dawn, the men rose, and Jory took Robb for a ride. Ned would have preferred to have Jory with him for his task, but Robb refused outright to go with either of the other men because he did not know them, and after what the boy had been through, Ned could not force him to go with a stranger.

He’d found a tree stump large enough to serve as a block, and he had his two men bring Arryk and kneel him down before it. The man looked up at him with an expression of hatred.

“Arryk, you laid hands on the heir to Winterfell. You kidnapped my son. For this crime, your life is forfeit. You will not leave this place alive. I, Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North do sentence you to death in the name of Robert Baratheon, First of his Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.”

The man sneered as Ned called out Robert’s name and titles. “Well, I doubt King Robert will thank you for it,” he said.

“Robert Baratheon is the King,” Ned said simply. “He has confirmed me as Warden of the North, and I dispense justice in his name.”

“So, do it,” the man said.

“First, I would have you tell me who sent you to Winterfell with your sister.”

“I don’t have to tell you anything. I’m a dead man.”

“You are,” Ned agreed. “But I can give you a clean death. More than a man who kidnapped a child and murdered his own sister deserves.”

“She’s not my sister,” he said. “She’s just some whore.”

“Tell me more,” Ned said.

“No. Kill me.”

Ned raised Ice high in the air and swung it down hard, hitting the man across the spine with the flat of the blade. Arryk screamed.

“No,” Ned said coldly. “Tell me more.”

“Gods damn you!” Arryk spat. “This is the honorable Lord Stark? Beating a bound man?”

Ned reached down and jerked him up by the throat. “You. Took. My. Son,” he said, forcing each word through gritted teeth. “There is nothing I could do to you that would not be justice.”

The man’s eyes went wide with fear then as he looked into Ned’s face, and Ned wondered what exactly he saw there. He decided he didn’t actually care.

“Tell me who sent you and Marni to Winterfell,” he said, throwing the man back down.

“Your bloody King Robert!” the man spat at him. “We were just to stay there and send word of anyone you met with or plotted with. And to find out where the Targaryen bastard is. That was Marni’s job. She was supposed to fuck it out of you, but apparently she’s not a very good whore, so she decided to charm your wife instead. She said if anyone in the castle knew your secrets, it was her.”

Ned was startled by that. If strangers coming into Winterfell could see that clearly how much faith he put in Catelyn, it must be apparent to anyone. Surely, she would not have said anything, though. She couldn’t have. “Ah, and did Lady Stark know any secrets worth sharing?” he asked the man.

Arryk laughed. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” he said maliciously.

Without hesitation, Ned brought the flat of the greatsword down again, this time to the man’s kidney. He screamed once more. “No!” he shouted. “The bitch never said a word about your sister’s little bastard. Goes about as if she doesn’t know a thing. Maybe she doesn’t!”

Ned leaned close to Arryk, taking his dagger out and holding it near his face. “Refer to my lady wife as anything other than Lady Stark again, and I will stop asking you questions, cut out your tongue, and stand here and watch you bleed to death slowly from your mouth.”

Arryk swallowed and looked at him sullenly.

“If you’ve been spying on me, then you know I have done nothing treasonous. I have committed not one act against the crown all the time you’ve been at Winterfell. Why did you take my son?”

The man shrugged. “Because I was told to. I got an order to bring the boy to King’s Landing. Sounded good to me. I was tired of being surrounded by northern savages. It would be good to go home.”

“King’s Landing is your home then?”

The man nodded. “Oh, I was born in Stoney Sept, all right. Lived in the Riverlands long enough to have the speech right. But I’ve been in King’s Landing all my adult life until King Robert heard I was a useful man and sent me here with the little whore.”

“But why now? Why take Robb now when I’m to attend a feast in King’s Landing myself?”

The man looked honestly confused. “I don’t know anything about a feast. The letter only said I was to take the boy, and so I did.”

“Letter? How did you receive letters?”

The man hesitated. Then he looked up at Ned. “Fuck ’em,” he said. “They’re nothing to me. There’s a man in Barrowton. He’s on the crown’s payroll, too. He’s got ravens so he can send and receive letters. He pays riders from Barrowton to bring them to me--men who can’t read. I don’t know any of their names, so you can hit me as many times as you want. It’ll do you no good.”

Ned looked at him. He disliked hearing Robert had someone in Barrowton working for him. He knew Lady Barbrey misliked him. She held him responsible for Lord Willam’s death. She also resented him for wedding Catelyn. He knew well enough that she’d had designs on Brandon, and when Brandon had been betrothed to Catelyn, her father had approached his own about wedding Barbrey to him. Thinking about Barbrey Dustin and his own sweet Cat, he offered a quick prayer that his father had not been interested in that match. Still, he hoped that she would not go so far as to aid Robert in kidnapping his son. Surely, this Barrowton man was working independently. That is something he would need to discover the truth about.

He was tired now. He wanted to go home to his wife. He wanted to take their son to her. He also wanted to kill Robert Baratheon. He could barely think about the man without imagining his hands around his throat. _He tried to steal my son. Robb could have been killed._

He looked down at the man who had done the deed. “We are finished here,” he said. “It is time to carry out your sentence. Lay your head down.”

The man looked at him only a moment before laying his head down on the stump. Gil and Darryn stood nearby if needed, but Arryk now seemed resigned to his fate. “Is there anything you would say before you die, Arryk?”

The man raised his head to look at Ned one last time. “I took your son, but it wasn’t my idea to do it. You can kill me, Lord Stark, but it’s your friend, the King, you really ought to kill. You know that’s true.” He then laid his head back down and didn’t move.

This time, when Ned brought Ice swiftly down, he led with the sharp edge, and Arryk’s head rolled onto the ground, cleanly severed from his shoulders by the Valyrian steel blade.

After cleaning his blade, he called for his men to dispose of the body and then to bring back Jory and Robb so that they might ride for Winterfell. He felt unsettled. Ordinarily, he would pray in the godswood after he took a man’s life, but there was no godswood here, and he had no time. He didn’t truly feel guilty about killing Arryk for the man had been guilty of a capital crime. He didn’t even feel guilty about coercing him to speak. He just felt less than clean somehow, and as he wrapped Robb to him in his saddle he had the ridiculous thought that his touch could somehow contaminate his innocent child.

As they rode northward, Robb fell asleep against him, lulled by the horse’s motion, and the men were all silent. Ned was left to his own thoughts. Mayhaps, he felt so unclean because in spite of Robert’s obvious culpability in this act, Ned still felt he had somehow brought this upon his family himself when he first chose to spare Arthur Dayne and hide Lyanna’s child.

Catelyn blamed him. He knew she did, although she never said it in so many words. How could she not? He had put them all in danger, and as much as he’d liked to pretend it was all behind them over the past year or more, they both knew it wasn’t. Jon remained safely hidden in Greywater Watch, growing to look more like his mother all the time. Yet, Catelyn and Robb were not hidden. Anyone determined enough could get to him through them. Robb’s kidnapping had proven that plainly enough. Lyanna’s son was safe. His own was not. And his wife knew that well enough, too.

He swallowed, remembering the look on her face when he’d told her how he’d intended to claim Jon as his own. She had looked at him as if lying to her about such a thing was the worst thing she could imagine him doing, and he’d decided then to tell her no lies, ever. Yet, he wondered if she still felt that way. Would she truly have resented him more for bringing home a bastard than she did for putting their own son’s life at risk? He honestly didn’t know the answer to that question and wondered if she did. He would never ask her.

He wondered if she imagined how her life with Brandon would have been different than the one he had given her. She rarely spoke of Brandon, and when she did so, it was never in reference to herself. He wondered if that meant she did not think on him often or if she were merely dutiful enough in her marriage to Ned to not give voice to such thoughts.

Her interactions with him had certainly become less formal over their time together. Not that she wasn’t dutiful. She was. He’d never met anyone, man or woman, with a stronger sense of duty. She was a consummate Lady of Winterfell, a mother that any child would be blessed to have, and a wife who attended to his needs not as a servant, but more as a sort of partner. It was that feeling of partnership that sometimes led him to believe that more than duty motivated some of her actions with regard to him now. He knew that the smiles and laughter she shared with him were genuine, and he had noticed that the smiles she gave to him were not like those she shared with everyone else. Little things like making sure his favorite food was served at dinner or brushing some dirt or dust off his doublet before allowing him to go into the Great Hall seemed to actually give her pleasure. The expression on her face when she’d finally counted the sides on the little building he had constructed in the courtyard and realized it was to be a sept had been priceless. He would build her a thousand septs just to see it again. And it had been something more than simple gratitude. He knew it had.

Or had he only seen what he wished to see? The simple truth was that he wanted the joy she had in their son, the satisfaction she so obviously found in helping him manage Winterfell, the pleasure he knew she experienced in their bedding to all be a part of something more. He wanted her to truly care for him, and he feared he was terribly greedy to want such a thing. She had never been meant for him. He had cast a shadow over their marriage before it had hardly begun. How could he expect her to . . .love him?

He could barely even think the word, much less say it. Yet, he did want it, gods forgive him. He wanted her love because, as much as it had surprised him, he had discovered that without a doubt he loved her. He hadn’t realized how much he’d come to love her until he’d left her these last few times and found his thoughts so full of her that he sometimes had trouble focusing on the purpose of his travels. Upon returning to Winterfell, he’d wanted to breathe her in like he breathed in the air because he found her every bit as essential to him.

He looked down at the little boy drowsing in front of him, the copper hair a shining, shimmering echo of his beautiful mother’s. He loved him so much, and he knew Catelyn loved him fiercely. Yet, he had allowed him to be stolen from their home. _Gods! I want only to love her and make her happy, and yet instead I give her one more reason to despise me._ He tried to pray, but found that his pleas were addressed to his wife. _Forgive me, Cat. Please forgive me. I will never allow harm to come to him again._

They reached Winterfell well before sunset, and he knew they had been seen when he heard a horn blow. She would know he was coming back to her. He had sworn to bring home their son. Had she believed him? Would Robb’s safe return be enough to earn her forgiveness?

As they continued riding toward the gate, he saw a rider come out of it, coming toward them quickly. It took him only a moment to recognize her, and a smile tugged at his lips. He put one arm around Robb to hold him more securely and then kicked his own horse, urging it into a faster gait. The jolt of movement woke Robb, and Ned squeezed him reassuringly. “Look, Robb, here comes your mother.”

He heard her joyful cry when she got near enough to see that the boy rode with him, and when Robb heard her voice, he immediately called out, “Mama!”

By the time they brought their horses together, Robb was attempting to jump to his mother, and Catelyn was reaching for him with tears streaming down her face. “Robb, Robb, oh my sweetling, Robb, my sweet, sweet boy,” she kept saying as she took him from Ned and held him tightly. She covered his little face and head with kisses and laughed and cried all at once. Ned had never seen anything as beautiful as his wife holding his son in that moment.

He realized Jory and the other men had stopped, giving them this moment of reunion in the relative privacy afforded by distance. “Our son is safely home, my lady,” he told her, finding it hard to speak around the lump in his throat.

She looked up at him then, and he could see no recrimination in those blue eyes. “Of course he is,” she said. “You swore to me you would bring him home.” Her lip trembled then and she shifted Robb into her right arm so that she could reach out with her left and take Ned’s hand. “Thank you, my lord,” she told him. The tears continued to flow freely down her cheeks, and she made no effort to stop or hide them. Nor did she let go of his hand. “Oh, Ned,” she said, and it was almost a sob. “I did worry for you.”

 _For me?_ “I am quite well, my lady. You needn’t worry for me.”

She laughed then, pulling on his hand so that her horses moved so close together that her leg brushed against his. “Yes, I do. I knew you would bring Robb home, Ned, but I also knew you would not hesitate to risk yourself to do so. You never think of yourself.” She looked down slightly. “But I think of you. I am glad you came to no harm.”

They simply looked at each other then for what seemed like a long time. Ned had an almost uncontrollable desire to put his arms around her and press his lips to hers, but while their distance from both the castle and the men behind them gave them privacy of conversation, they were in plain sight of any number of people.

Fortunately, Robb began making quite a fuss then, and Ned realized he had burrowed beneath Catelyn’s cloak and was trying to get the laces of her gown opened. “Our son has missed you, my lady,” he said, raising his brow in amusement.

“So I see,” she laughed. “And I thought I had him nearly weaned!” She shook her head. “Will you ride close beside us back to the castle, my lord? He isn’t bound to me, and as active as he is . . .”

“I will keep close, my lady. I have no doubt you will keep him safe, however.” _Safe._ His only desire in the world just then was to have them both safe. And both close to him.

Later, when she laid their exhausted son into his old cradle in her room, Ned smiled at the sight. Robb barely fit in the cradle anymore, to be honest, but neither of them had wanted him even as far away from them as the nursery this night. While there had been great rejoicing in the castle at the little lordling’s safe return, the Lord and Lady had not participated. They had thanked everyone graciously, but used Ned’s obvious exhaustion and the trauma their son had been through as reason to have their evening meal sent to Catelyn’s chambers.

Robb had uncharacteristically not wanted to eat very much food, clinging to his mother and suckling far longer than Ned had seen him do in quite some time. Catelyn had been hopeful he was about to give up the teat altogether, and Ned wondered if the events of these past two days would cause him to demand it more often again.

After he’d finally taken his fill, instead of falling asleep easily, the boy had cried inconsolably, first wanting one parent and then the other, seeming unable to find lasting solace in anything. Ned had feared he had taken some unseen injury and was ready to run for Maester Luwin, but Catelyn had stopped him.

“He is only overtired, my lord,” she’d told him. “I am certain he slept little until you found him, and no doubt he was terrified all that time.” She’d walked back and forth humming, singing, and whispering to their son as she held him tightly against her.

“He’s done little else but sleep during our ride today, Cat,” he’d told her, still concerned enough to want the maester to come and look at him.

“Drowsing on horseback is not the same,” she’d insisted. “A good, long sleep, safe and warm in Winterfell, is all he needs. Unfortunately, babes who most need sleep often seem to fight it the hardest.”

That had made no sense to Ned whatsoever, but within half an hour Robb’s cries had ceased and he’d fallen into a deep sleep on his mother’s shoulder. He did not move at all when she laid him in the cradle.

“Likely he’ll sleep late into the morning,” she told him, straightening back up. “Why aren’t you eating, Ned?” she exclaimed as she looked at the untouched food in front of him on the table.

“I wished to wait for you, my lady.”

She shook her head at him. “I have not been out riding two days and a night to rescue our son, my lord.”

He raised a brow at her. “Oh? And did you eat regularly while I was gone, my lady? Take all your meals with a hearty appetite?”

She almost smiled at that, but tears sprang to her eyes at the thought of the last two days, and Ned regretted his attempt to tease her. He stood up and came to put his hands on her waist. “I know you have not eaten, Catelyn. And likely you have not slept. Come, my lady, let us both enjoy our meal now that our son rests safely beside us.”

She nodded, and he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead before leading her to sit with him at the table. They ate in silence for a few moments before she asked the question.

“They are dead then?” she asked.

He nodded. “Marni was killed by Arryk. He pulled her off her horse, trying to get to Robb away from her, when we caught up to them.” He swallowed. “I killed Arryk. I sentenced him to death and took his head for what he had done.” He looked directly at her, awaiting her reaction.

Her blue eyes did not leave his for a moment. “Did he tell you why he had done this?”

“He told me who ordered the act,” Ned said grimly. “He told me Marni was not his sister. Robert sent the two of them here to inform upon us and to find out where Jon is.”

“Why does he persist in this, Ned? You have given him no reason to believe you have any purpose for Jon Snow other than to protect him as your sister’s child.” She tried to keep her voice level, but he could hear the hint of desperation in it. He also could hear the anger, and he wondered if it were solely for Robert or if any of it were directed at him.

“Arryk was unconcerned with Robert’s motives, Cat. The man was simply a hired thug. I suspect he was being well paid for he was quite determined to carry out his orders. As for what brought Marni into this plot, I do not know. I never had the chance to ask her.” He thought about the young woman’s defiance of Arryk at the end. “She did try to do what she said she would, Cat. She was trying to keep him safe from Arryk, as best she could.”

“She took him,” Catelyn said coldly. “She took my son.” Ned realized that Catelyn was far too filled with rage over Robb’s abduction to feel any compassion toward the woman who had gained her trust and Robb’s affection only to steal him away. And, unlike him, she had not been present to see what Marni had done at the end.

“As for what I think Robert’s motives may be,” he said, steering the conversation away from their former maid, “There has been more talk lately about unrest in Dorne, in spite of Doran Martell’s oath of fealty. There are rumors that Doran’s own brother Prince Oberyn is professing support for and even giving aid to Arthur Dayne in his quest to see the Iron Throne returned to the Targaryens.”

“The Targaryens,” she said. “You mean Jon Snow.”

Ned nodded. “There is Rhaegar’s young brother Viserys, of course, and his infant sister, Daenerys. I think perhaps that Oberyn and most Dornishmen might be happier with them than with a child of Lyanna Stark, but Ser Arthur is apparently still quite insistent that Jon is Rhaegar’s one true heir.” He shook his head. “I should have killed the bloody fool.”

“You believe all this is Arthur Dayne’s fault?”

There was almost a challenge in her words, and Ned wondered if she meant to accuse him. He could not deny his own share of the blame for the current situation. But there would seem to be no shortage of people at whom one could cast blame--Rhaegar Targaryen, Lyanna, Brandon, Mad King Aerys, Arthur Dayne, even Tywin Lannister who’d had his monsters murder Rhaegar’s wife and children. But none of them had ordered his son to be stolen from his home. Robert, alone, had done that, and as he thought about it, Ned felt the rage which had been soothed somewhat by the simple presence of his wife and son here once more with him in Winterfell begin to rise again.

“No,” he said after a moment. “No one person is to blame for _all_ of it. And too many of us are to blame for some it.” He stood then, and walked away from the table, going to one of the windows and opening it wide--allowing a blast of night air to hit his face. “Only one is to blame for what happened here, though,” he said, clenching his jaw tightly.

She came and put her hand on his back, but he didn’t didn’t turn around. “What do you intend to do now, my lord?” she asked quietly.

He did turn around slowly then, realizing that he wanted to do precisely what he’d told her he’d do when he’d first realized the truth of what happened to Robb. “I want to kill him,” he said. His voice sounded like ice, even to him.

He saw her tremble slightly. “He’s the king,” she whispered.

“I know he is. I helped make him king. And he took my son!” He hadn’t realized how loud his voice had become until he saw her flinch. “Damn it, Cat! I cannot simply do nothing! He stole our son! Robb could easily have died with Arryk. He meant nothing to that man!” He turned away from her and struck the stone wall hard with his fist, almost howling in frustration. “I am Robb’s father! He is mine to protect! I want to see Robert dead for what he has done!”

Robb cried out then, and Ned immediately fell silent. He and Catelyn both stared at the cradle, but the child never opened his eyes. He simply turned a bit onto one side and fell back into silent slumber.

Ned continued looking at his son as he said, “I want to kill him.” He kept his voice quiet, but it still shook with anger.

She put her hands on the sides of his face and turned him to look at her. “I know,” she said. “But you cannot.”

He bristled at that. Did she think she was too craven to face the man and call him out for his crimes simply because he wore a crown on his head?

“You cannot,” she repeated, “because Robb and I need you alive more than you need him dead. Do you understand me, Eddard Stark?”

He looked at her and said nothing.

“You are not Brandon!” she cried. She kept her own voice soft, but he could hear the desperation in it.

“Do you wish I were?” he asked her, his exhaustion and anger giving voice to a question he had never meant to ask her.

“Gods, no!” she said quickly, looking shocked.

“You think Brandon could have kept Robb safer?” Ned continued, not paying attention to what she had said. “You believe he could better deal with Robert now?”

“Brandon is dead!” She did almost shout that time, and Ned stopped speaking, stunned by her outburst. Both of them looked toward the cradle again, but Robb did not stir.

“Brandon is dead because he was an arrogant, rash fool,” she said then more quietly. “And while I am sorry for his death, I thank the gods that you, and not he, are Robb’s father, my lord.” Her eyes blazed as she hissed the angry words, and it took Ned a moment to realize through his own anger that she had said she was thankful that he was her son’s father. He stared at her.

“Brandon would have already ridden for King’s Landing. You know it as well as I. Likely he would have ridden after Robert before he even thought to find Robb. That’s what he did before, isn’t it? That’s why he’s dead, my lord. And he did your sister no good. She died as well.”

He had pulled away from her when he’d asked if she would prefer that he were Brandon, and now she stepped toward him and placed her hands on his arms. “You swore to me you would bring Robb home. And you did. I’ve no doubt you wished to kill the man Arryk on sight, but you secured our son, got your answers, and then executed the man in accordance with law. Your brother could never have done that, Ned, and I thank the gods that you could. You protected our son. You defeated Robert’s little plot, and you’ve given us a chance to plan our next move. This game Robert plays with you is a dangerous one, and yet you’ve kept us safe thus far. I trust you will continue to keep us safe.”

She had held his gaze throughout her speech. “I want to keep you safe, Cat. You and Robb . . .you are the most important things to me,” he said hoarsely. She looked almost surprised at that, and he pulled her to him, holding her in his arms. “I will keep you safe,” he whispered into her hair.

“You cannot do that if you go to King’s Landing to die.”

“I will stay here then, if you wish. Robert’s feast be damned. I will stay here and make certain no one attempts to harm our son again.”

She drew in her breath sharply, and threw her own arms around his neck. “Oh, Ned,” she said. He’d meant his words to comfort her, but she sounded so sad.

“What is it, my lady?”

She sighed against his neck before releasing her grasp on him and stepping back from his embrace.

“I fear we must both go to King’s Landing now, my lord.”

“What? Catelyn we cannot possibly . . .”

“We can, and we must,” she interrupted him.

“But Robb . . .”

“Robb must stay here in Winterfell.” Those words cost her dearly to say. He could see and hear her pain at even the thought of leaving the child she’d only just regained. “Benjen will keep close watch on him. After what happened yesterday, all of your people will guard him with their lives. Ben can keep the gates closed to outsiders, and no one will be able to reach Robb.”

“Arryk and Marni were within our gates, Cat.”

“They were outsiders, though. Expel everyone you haven’t known since childhood if you must. Do whatever you feel is necessary, but I know Robb can be made safe here during our absence.”

“But why should we be absent? There is no reason to . . .”

“There is!” she insisted. “Do you not see? Robert will not stop, Ned. He will be waiting to hear from his kidnapper, you know. Just as he is waiting for your response to his invitation to this feast for his son. We cannot remain in Winterfell forever, simply waiting for the next attack to come. We must take this to him. We go to King’s Landing, both of us, just as he requested.”

“To what purpose? I have already told you I will not risk you.”

“You risk me by leaving me here. You risk yourself too much by going alone now. If you arrive in King’s Landing without me, Robert will now suspect you somehow stopped the abduction and may know of his part in it. How could he leave you free then? To spread such a tale among the gathered nobility of his realm? He obviously fears you have the power to discredit him or he would not still be trying so hard to gain leverage over you.” She shook her head. “No, we must play innocent and travel to King’s Landing precisely as our king commands. Allow Robert to believe that his man simply didn’t do as he was ordered, or that he hadn’t done it by the time we left Winterfell. We shall appear to all the lords and ladies to be the most loyal of King Robert’s vassals. We shall give no one cause to speak against you. Mayhaps, you can speak with Lord Arryn, and the two of you can together convince Robert that you mean him no harm. That you will never move against him.”

“I do mean him harm,” Ned said darkly.

Catelyn sighed. “You must put that thought far away from you, my lord. While I do not deny it would be pleasant to make Robert Baratheon suffer, I care more about preventing any more suffering of our own.” She looked at him levelly. “And I believe that you do as well.”

He considered her words, thinking not for the first time that he had wed a woman with an unusually keen mind and a knack for seeing to the heart of difficult issues. There was merit to what she said. That didn’t mean he liked it.

“I dislike the idea of taking you purposely into harm’s way.”

“I dislike it as well,” she said honestly. “I don’t want to go to King’s Landing. I most definitely do not want to leave Robb . . .but I think it is the best course for us. Of all the dangerous paths we must choose from, I think this one has the best chance of leading us to a safer place. And I am well and strong enough for the journey. There is no reason I cannot travel.”

Her voice sounded odd to him when she said the last bit, almost as if she were trying to convince herself. But then, she likely was. He knew how difficult it would be for her to leave Robb.

“I will think on it,” he said finally. “We needn’t decide this tonight.”

She nodded. “Very well, my lord.” She looked at his face carefully. “You are beyond exhausted, Ned. Come to bed. We shall both sleep better tonight than last night, I think. Even with this decision before us.”

He nodded. He was tired. He looked at his son and envied him his untroubled sleep. As pleased as he was by the prospect of lying with his arms wrapped tightly around Catelyn again with their son safely beside them, he feared sleep would not find him. He knew she was right that openly confronting Robert for his crimes could bring nothing good for them. Yet, riding into King’s Landing with smiles and pleasantries for the man who had tried to steal his son seemed an impossible task. Mayhaps, he could do it with her there to help him, but taking her there was the last thing he wanted to do.

With thoughts such as these heavy on his mind, Ned expected to lie awake until morning. Yet, he must have been even more tired than he thought. In spite of all his worries, when Catelyn lay down beside him and curled herself against him, his body relaxed, and Ned Stark fell into a sleep as deep as his little son’s.


	10. Catelyn

It was hot in King’s Landing. Catelyn had the urge to laugh at herself every time that thought crossed her mind. In truth, summer had not yet arrived, and the Red Keep and its surroundings were nowhere near as warm as they would be when it did. Summer days at Riverrun could be a good deal warmer than this. Yet, it seemed that moons of living in the North had made her more of a Stark than she had suspected, and she found the stifling, humid air magnified by so many people living in such a relatively small area oppressive.

Their journey had been blissfully easy, although far longer than any Catelyn had previously undertaken as King’s Landing was a good deal further south than Riverrun. They had arrived a few hours before sunset the previous day and been met at the gate of the city by men of the City Watch who’d escorted them to the Red Keep. They were treated quite courteously by everyone but had not been taken to see the King and Queen upon their arrival. Instead, they’d been shown to their rooms and encouraged to rest and refresh themselves from the long trip.

They had been assigned separate chambers, not even close together, a fact which had pleased Ned not at all. She hadn’t liked it either, but had remained silent as her husband courteously informed the steward who brought them to Catelyn’s chamber that the two of them would be perfectly happy to share, given the large number of guests currently housed in the Red Keep.

“Oh, no, my lord,” the man had said. “His Grace was quite insistent that you and Lady Stark are to be given quarters befitting your high place. These rooms for the lady are some of the airiest in the castle, and the views are the best to be had from the windows. For yourself, he has requested rooms nearer the other visiting lords so that he can call upon all of you easily.” The man had turned to Catelyn with a smile then. “If King Robert keeps the men up late with men‘s business, there is no need to disturb you ladies.”

Catelyn had tried not to frown. The scowl on Ned’s face was quite disapproving enough. “Very well,” he’d said. “Give me a moment with my lady wife, and then you may show me to my rooms.”

The man had bowed and left the room to stand in the corridor with Jory Cassel and a few other men who had walked with them.

“Robert can give me whatever room he likes,” Ned said firmly once the door closed, “but he cannot make me sleep there. I shall return to you as soon as I am able.”

She’d nodded. “Promise?” She’d hated the slight quiver she heard in her voice. She didn’t ordinarily ask him to promise her things for she knew far better than most just how serious a thing a promise was to Eddard Stark. He never promised anything he could not follow through on. “I mean . . .I shall be fine here if you need to be elsewhere,” she added hurriedly, attempting to sound braver than she felt.

He’d taken her hands and looked at her with tenderness and a hint of something else that reminded her how little they’d actually touched each other during the long journey here. They had lain together only a scant few times when they’d actually found lodging at inns. Lying on the ground surrounded by their men had not afforded them any privacy, and she’d missed her large bed at Winterfell for more than just the comfort it offered. “I promise I shall return tonight, my lady, although I cannot say when.” His grey eyes had not left hers. “I will leave you Jory, though. He can stand outside your door and keep watch over you for me.”

“Will that not give offense? Leaving me guarded as if you fear I shall be attacked?”

“I do not care if it does,” he’d said flatly. “I will not leave you here alone.”

In truth, she had felt better for that although she’d ordered him to be certain he did not leave himself without Northmen around him either. Once Ned left, maids had arrived offering to pour a bath for her. She’d accepted gratefully, but declined their assistance with actually bathing. She didn’t think the almost imperceptible thickening of her middle would be noticeable to women who didn’t know her at all, but she had no wish to test that by allowing anyone here in King’s Landing to see her unclothed. She had answered the maids’ chattered questions as they moved about her room with responses barely long enough to be courteous. She intended to share nothing with anyone here. After her experience with Marni, Catelyn thought it would be a long time before she trusted any stranger again on the basis of a warm smile or a friendly face.

The bath had been delightful and she’d reveled in feeling truly clean for the first time in a moon’s turn. She’d barely gotten dressed and was running a comb through her still damp hair when a knock came at her door.

 _Ned,_ she’d thought, jumping up from her chair almost breathlessly.

But it had been Jory’s voice that called through the door. “Lady Stark? Lady Arryn is here to see you.”

“Lysa!” she’d exclaimed out loud, rushing to the door. Her concern for her husband had been temporarily forgotten with the anticipation of seeing her sister.

“Cat!” Lysa had squealed when the door opened, and the two of them embraced tightly. “Oh, Cat, I can’t believe you actually came!”

“Well,” Catelyn had replied, pulling her sister into the room and closing the door. “It isn’t as if we were given a choice.” She’d looked at her sister and thought she looked much older than when she’d last seen her. Lysa was only nineteen, but she seemed older and somehow sadder than she should be. “Lysa, have you been well?”

Lysa’s eyes had looked away. “Well enough . . .” she’d said. “It’s only . . .I lost another babe two moons ago. I blamed Lord Arryn at first. He is so old, Cat! And I know that I can . . .I mean I know I am young and healthy.” She’d looked back up at Catelyn then. “But you have not gotten another babe since your Robb, and your Lord Stark is not old. Do you think perhaps there is something wrong in us?”

She’d looked so desperately unhappy and frightened, and Catelyn had longed to offer comfort to her. She had nearly blurted out her precious secret then, but a sense of disloyalty to her husband in sharing it with someone else first had held her tongue. “There is nothing wrong with either of us, Lysa,” she’d said firmly. “We shall both have new babes very soon. I am certain of it.” She’d squeezed her sister’s hands and led her to sit down with her. “Where is your lord husband?”

“With yours. We only just heard you’d arrived. Jon was with King Robert, of course, and apparently His Grace has been drinking more heavily than usual today. Anyway, he seemed more inclined to arrest your husband again than to welcome him so Jon . . .”

She had stopped at Catelyn’s gasp and reached out to pat her hand. “Don’t worry, Cat. It’s only a fit of temper. He takes them sometimes. Jon says he’ll be much more reasonable on the morrow. He simply wants Lord Eddard to stay away from the king tonight. That’s all. He’s gone to tell him whatever it is he needs him to know now.”

“But what if the king demands to see Ned?” Catelyn had asked, her concern for her husband not relieved by Lysa’s words.

“Oh, he won’t,” Lysa had assured her. “Not tonight. He’s already spent more time than he likes with his brother Stannis. That’s why he’s drinking so much and why he’s in such a foul temper. Petyr says the king will be off with one of his whores by sunset.”

Catelyn had been shocked by her sister’s nonchalant mention of whores, but found her attention drawn away from that by the name she had mentioned. “Petyr? You mean Petyr Baelish?”

“Of course! He’s here helping my lord husband with the treasury. I wrote you he was coming to King’s Landing, remember?"

In truth, she hadn’t remembered, although she did when her sister reminded her. Lysa had gone on and on about their old childhood playmate in that letter, but Catelyn had put it out of her mind. She had once loved Petyr like a brother, but after he’d challenged Brandon Stark to that ridiculous duel, her father had sent him away and told her to put him out of her mind. Obedience to her father, loyalty to her betrothed, and her own anger at Petyr for doing something so appallingly foolish and inappropriate had led her to do precisely as her father asked, and she’d not even answered the one letter Petyr had sent her after that.

As she’d sat in that room with Lysa, however, Catelyn had found herself curious to see the boy who’d once told her she was the most beautiful girl in the world and kissed her in the godswood at Riverrun. They’d been children then, and the kisses were nothing more than a soft touching of lips. He’d tried to put his tongue in her mouth once, and Catelyn had pushed him away, thinking that no respectable man would ever do such a nasty thing to a lady. She’d found herself blushing as that memory led directly to thoughts of the many times her husband had put his tongue in her mouth and elsewhere, and how much she enjoyed every moment of it.

“What’s the matter, Cat?” Lysa had asked, interrupting those thoughts.

“Nothing. Does Petyr know I’m here, Lysa? Do you think he’d like to see me?” Suddenly the prospect of having another friend in this dangerous place, someone she might actually be able to trust had become very appealing. With the exception of Lysa and Lord Arryn, she and Ned were largely friendless here. No doubt, the other lords in attendance would be waiting to see what attitude Robert took toward him before deciding how to receive him themselves.

“He knows,” Lysa had said, sounding oddly petulant. “I’m sure he’ll come see you at some point. I’ll remind him. He’s with me nearly every day, you know. He’s very fond of me.”

Something in her sister’s demeanor had bothered Catelyn then, but they’d moved on to other topics of conversation. Lysa had not seemed to want to speak any more of King Robert or what potential dangers Catelyn and Ned might need to be aware of, so instead Catelyn told her sister about Robb and Winterfell and listened as Lysa spoke about life at court.

Her sister had stayed with her for some time, but when she’d left, Catelyn realized in some frustration she hadn’t really learned a great deal about anything of importance. The same maids who’d prepared her bath returned to bring her food after sundown, so she surmised she would not be invited to dine with anyone that evening. Knowing perfectly well Jory would not leave her unguarded even to eat, she’d ordered him to come in and share the meal with her in her chambers. He’d eaten quickly and returned to his post in the corridor, and she’d told herself to remind Ned to have someone else relieve the poor man for the night if he insisted on having the door guarded while they slept.

Realizing that Ned wouldn’t want to find her sitting up and fretting about him whenever he returned, she’d undressed for bed and lain down, but sleep had not found her. She had no idea how much time had passed before the door had opened quietly and her husband had entered the room, endeavoring to make no sound as he began removing his outer layers of clothing.

“I’m not asleep, Ned,” she’d said softly.

He’d come and sat on the edge of the bed then, touching her face gently. “I didn’t mean you to wait up for me, Cat,” he said tiredly.

She’d raised up on her elbow. “I know. I fear I could not find sleep easily, my lord. My sister, Lysa, was here. She told me Jon Arryn had gone to you. I hope he had more useful information than she did.”

Ned had sighed, bending to remove his boots. “Is your sister well?”

He hadn’t commented on the content of his conversation with Jon Arryn, she’d noticed. “Well enough, I suppose. What did Jon Arryn have to say to you?”

He’d pulled his shirt off and then stood to remove his breeches without replying. He had then lain down beside her and pulled her close to him, burying his face in her hair. “You smell wonderful,” he’d said.

“I had a bath. What did Jon Arryn say?”

He’d sighed again. “A great deal about some things, and nothing at all about others,” he’d said, sounding weary and angry all at once. “There is a great banquet tomorrow. That is likely the first time we’ll see Robert because Jon thinks he’s more likely to behave civilly toward us in public. Jon doesn’t seem to be worried about how I’ll behave toward Robert.”

“Ned, you can’t . . .”

“He stole our son, my lady. And now I am being asked to concern myself with his feelings.” Ned had nearly growled those words. “I am not certain I can do this, Cat.”

“You can,” she’d said firmly. “And I don’t think Lysa knows anything about Robb’s abduction. She would have said something.”

Ned had sighed, shifting in the bed to lie on his back, head and chest propped up on the big pillow behind him. Catelyn had turned herself to face him, and his face looked like it was chisled from white marble in the moonlight. “To be fair, I don’t think Jon knows, either,” he’d said finally. “He told me right up front that he was most pleased when I was ‘freed’ from my cell here, and that he was happy to learn how well things have been going in the North, but that he did not intend to discuss the time of my imprisonment here.” He’d looked at her meaningfully. “Obviously, he knows about my escape, but doesn’t think it wise to speak about it. He then asked me if we had any laborers from the south working at Winterfell. When I asked him why he was interested, he would only say that he hopes I have learned well enough to guard my tongue in the presence of men or women I do not know well. He was warning me that Robert had people in Winterfell, clearly. I believe if he’d known about the order to take Robb, he’d have warned me about that more specifically.”

“What did you say to him?”

“I told him I have no need to guard my tongue. I have no secrets from Robert save the location of Lyanna’s child. And since I alone am in possession of that knowledge, I have no one to discuss it with.”

“But I . . .”

He’d actually put a hand over her mouth. “I would never endanger you by sharing such knowledge with you,” he’d said, looking at her intently.

“I understand.” Apparently, some things were not even to be whispered in bed as long as they remained in the Red Keep. “Lysa said Robert was drunk and angry at his brother, Stannis. Did Lord Arryn tell you of that?”

Ned had scowled deeply then. “Stannis Baratheon is to be married,” he’d said between gritted teeth. “He isn’t happy about it. No more than he was pleased to trade Storm’s End for Dragonstone. But he will do it in the end. Stannis is the most dutiful man I’ve ever met.”

Ned had sounded very unhappy for some reason. “Whom is he to wed?” she’d asked him.

He’d taken a deep breath before replying in a voice laced with bitterness, “Ashara Dayne.”

“Ser Arthur’s sister? Why would she wed Stannis Baratheon?”

“Because she has no choice!” Ned had nearly exploded. “When Robert thought I threatened his throne, he would have taken you and Robb hostage had he been able. Thank the gods I was able to see you protected. He still sees Arthur Dayne as a threat, but Dayne is hiding somewhere in Dorne which left his sister unprotected at Starfall. Supposedly, Oberyn Martell is objecting to the match, but Prince Doran has given his blessing. He even sent men with Robert’s to escort Lady Ashara to King’s Landing.”

“She’s here?”

“Yes.” Ned had sounded so angry and bitter that Catelyn had been taken aback.

“She helped you, didn’t she?” she’d remembered suddenly. “When you were leaving Dorne with Lyanna’s child. You said she warned you about what her brother was doing.”

“Yes,” he’d said. She hated it when he gave her nothing but single word responses. It was one way he closed himself off to her.

“So . .if she helped you, she must not want Rhaegar and Lyanna’s child on the throne, either.”

“It had nothing to do with that.” He hadn’t shouted, keeping his voice as quiet as ever, but it sounded like ice, inviting no question, discussion, or disagreement. He rarely used his lord’s voice on her, and she hated it when he did. He must have realized that because he’d softened his voice ever so slightly to add, “She knew I had spared her brother’s life. She knew I would die before I’d give up Jon. She didn’t want to see me dead.”

“Do you think making his sister a Baratheon will stop Ser Arthur from attempting to return a Targaryen to the throne?”

Ned had shaken his head slowly. “I do not know. He loves his sister, as I did mine. I do know that. But he is a man of honor and duty. If he feels his duty is to put Jon on his grandfather’s throne . . .I do not know.” After a moment, he’d continued. “Robert believes it will stay his hand, though, and so Jon supports this marriage. If Robert’s fears about Arthur Dayne are decreased, he is likely to become less concerned about Jon, and therefore less angry with me.”

“So this marriage is a good thing?”

“So say Jon Arryn and Robert Baratheon.” He’d looked at something far away. “To be given to a cold, bitter man who has complained loudly he does not want her. To be little more than a hostage. She deserves better.” The last had been little more than a whisper to himself.

“And she has accepted this marriage?”

“She has no choice,” he’d repeated bitterly, turning toward her. “Did you have a choice, my lady? When your lord father told you of my proposal, did he ask you or tell you that you would be wed to the North?”

“I . . .this is not the same.”

“Isn’t it?” he’d asked, looking directly into her eyes with an intensity that made his grey eyes seem to glow in the dim light from the moon through the window. “You had been promised to my brother, my lady. I am not like him. You saw that quickly enough when you met me. I know you did. Had you been truly free to choose then, Catelyn, would you have wed me?”

“You had no more choice than I, my lord,” she’d said rather than answering.

“Not if I wanted your father’s armies, I didn’t. But I did get to decide how badly I wanted those armies. Where was your choice in the matter, Cat?”

“I had none,” she’d said quietly. “And I do not know what I would have done then had I been given a true choice,” she’d finished honestly.

He hadn’t replied to that. He’d only looked away with an unreadable expression on his solemn face, but she’d felt his pain. She’d raised up and leaned over his chest, bringing her face close to his. “But I would wed you now,” she’d said. “Knowing all that has happened and all that still might, I would choose to wed you now, Eddard Stark.”

As he’d stared at her wordlessly for a long moment, she’d thought her heart might beat out of her chest. It was the closest she’d ever come to actually declaring her love for him, and a part of her wanted the words back, fearing that he would find them unwelcome somehow.

Then he’d grabbed her to him, pressing his lips to hers so hard, it almost hurt. He was always gentle with her, and his sudden urgency startled her. He’d flipped her over on her back, attempting to push up her nightshift, tug at his own smallclothes, and somehow keep his lips to hers all at the same time.

“Ned?” she’d said questioningly, and he’d pulled back from her, holding himself above her and breathing hard.

He’d touched her face then, and then run that hand through her hair. “I . . .I need you, Cat,” he’d said. It wasn’t a command or even a request as much as it was a plea. He looked her in the eyes, and the need she saw in his went far beyond desire for her body in that moment. “I need you,” he’d repeated.

“You have me,” she’d whispered. Then she’d pulled off the shift and they had spoken no more for a very long time.

Afterward, she’d lain in his arms, wondering if he felt as she did, that something had changed between them in some subtle way that she couldn’t yet define. She’d still wondered about it the next morning when the maids arrived to inform them where their morning meal was being served. Ned hadn’t mentioned Jon Arryn or Ashara Dayne before going to his own room to dress before breaking their fast. When he’d returned to escort her, he’d been even more quiet than usual, but he had smiled at her and whispered to her as she’d taken his arm, “I would choose to wed you now, my lady, even if it would cost me an army rather than gain me one.”

Stunned, she hadn’t replied, but she’d felt warm all the way to the dining hall in a way that had nothing to do with the weather. The king and queen had not appeared at the morning meal, but there had been quite a few lords and ladies, most of whom were courteous enough, if somewhat distant. Catelyn had been proud of how Ned had handled himself, not rising to the bait when anyone did make a remark that bordered on rudeness.

After they’d eaten, Jon Arryn had arrived to claim Ned, stating that he had need to speak with him. When she’d asked after her sister, Lord Arryn had said Lysa was trying on dresses for the evening’s banquet and would likely spend the day in preparation for it. Recognizing a dismissal when she heard one, Catelyn had turned to Ned. “I should be returning to my own chambers to prepare as well, my lord,” she’d said. “I fear I have only a precious few gowns which might be suited to this climate.”

“You will be the loveliest woman there, my lady,” Ned had said, “Whatever gown you wear.” He’d bowed his head to kiss her hand. He wasn’t normally a man for flowery compliments, particularly in the presence of others, and she’d felt her cheeks color. Then she’d left him with a smile and managed to find her way back to her room with only only one wrong turn.

Now, she was staring at gowns and cursing the heat. She’d realized, of course, that she’d need lighter weight dresses in King’s Landing, but she and Etta had only had four days between the decision that she and Ned would both answer the summons to the Red Keep and their departure in which to put together her wardrobe. She’d brought mostly older gowns from Riverrun, of course, but she’d wanted them to reflect her status as the Lady of Winterfell and had enlisted Etta’s talented daughter to make what alterations and embellishments she could in such a short period of time.

She blushed now, remembering Etta’s suggestion for embellishment. “You’ll want them fuller in the skirt, won’t you, milady? Especially with this thinner fabric, if you have more material to the skirt, it will serve you better.”

“Serve me better?”

The maid had looked at her shrewdly. “I imagine you have your own good reasons for what you do, Lady Stark. You believe it is important that you make this journey?”

“Of course,” Catelyn had replied, not entirely sure what Etta was getting at.

“Well, it’s a sure thing, Lord Eddard would never take you if he knew about the babe.” The woman had actually laughed at Catelyn’s shocked expression. “I do your laundry, milady. I’m well aware you haven’t bled in some time.” She frowned. “Young Ned would know, too, if he hadn’t been gone so much. He will know before you ever get back from King’s Landing. He likely would notice a difference already had he been there when you carried little Robb, what with as much time as he spends in your bed when he is here.”

“Etta!” Catelyn had exclaimed, unsure of whether she was more disturbed by the maid’s knowledge she was with child or her frank discussion of her bedding habits.

“I won’t be saying anything to him, milady. It’s not my place, and I don’t believe you’d needlessly put yourself or the babe in danger, so this must be important. But I’d recommend you tell him before he realizes it on his own. He doesn’t like being lied to.”

“I haven’t lied to him!” Catelyn had protested, feeling guilty none the less. “I simply haven’t told him yet,” she’d finished weakly.

“Hmm,” Etta had mumbled. “You can’t keep him from knowing much longer, milady. For everyone else . . .fuller skirts will do the trick.”

Etta had not mentioned the babe again prior to their departure, but the dresses had all been given plenty of flowing material in the skirts.

Catelyn had decided upon the blue gown tonight. She’d worn it when Ned had first come to Riverrun, and it had very short sleeves and was lightweight through the bodice so that she was less likely to die from heatstroke in it. Etta’s daughter had embroidered running direwolves all around the ends of the little sleeves, and replaced the decorative red thread which had criss-crossed the bodice with dark grey thread. She’d added a deep grey overskirt as well, which not only added extra material, but was quite lovely, providing a subtle, but elegant contrast to the blue bodice and the blue of the longer original skirt that came down beneath it.

She intended to do her own hair, but the maids were fairly insistent on helping, so Catelyn allowed them to twist and braid as long as they followed her instructions. In the end, she managed to maintain a fairly Northern style, albeit a bit more ornamental than she had done in a long time.

When she finally stood before the looking glass, completely dressed and styled for the banquet, she actually thought she looked quite lovely and looked forward to Ned’s first glimpse of her with anticipation. So, she was quite disappointed when Jory Cassel knocked on her door with a note sent from Ned informing her that he had been detained and would meet her at the banquet. No further explanation was given. She found herself both disappointed and irritated, but allowed Jory to take her arm and lead her to the Hall. Upon arrival, she was announced and led to a seat very near the as of yet unoccupied seats for the royal party. Apparently, Robert Baratheon did not intend to ignore them this evening.

As she debated whether to sit down by herself or wander around the room, she heard her sister’s voice squeal, “Cat!” and turned to see Lysa in a very elaborate gown of Arryn sky blue trimmed in silver rushing toward her with a slender young man in tow. As they drew closer, Catelyn gasped, recognizing Lysa’s companion.

“Petyr? By the gods, you have grown up!” she exclaimed with a smile.

For some reason, the young man’s eyes darkened briefly at that, but the expression was quickly replaced by a smile. He reached for her hand and bent to kiss it. “And you, my lady, have grown even more beautiful. How is that possible?”

Something in his gaze made her vaguely uncomfortable, but she pushed that feeling aside, smiling broadly at him and Lysa both. “If only we had Edmure here, it would almost feel like we were children again at Riverrun.”

“Edmure is a child,” Lysa said. “That’s why Father wouldn’t send him. And Father claiming to be too old and infirm to travel . . .” She snorted. “He really should take more care about insulting the king. Petyr says . . .”

“Petyr says that two such lovely ladies have very foolish lord husbands to have allowed them to come unaccompanied,” Baelish interjected quickly. “However, I shall be more than happy to see that both of you are protected from overzealous admirers until those honorable men arrive.” He smiled again, and Catelyn had the distinct impression that it was a smile he had practiced. While Lysa giggled at his ridiculous flattery and not so subtle jabs at their husbands, Catelyn found herself wondering what precisely Petyr had said to her sister about their father’s absence.

Catelyn knew why he hadn’t come. The Lord Paramount of the Trident had no intention of being trapped inside the Red Keep should Robert Baratheon take any action against his daughter. Ned had sent ravens to Riverrun before they’d left, and her father had met them at the Inn at the Crossroads. The two men had decided Ned would safeguard her inside King’s Landing, and Hoster would remain at Riverrun, ostensibly due to his age, but Robert would know well enough that the armies of the Riverlands could be called up quickly enough from Riverrun should it be deemed necessary.

When the imminent arrival of the king and queen was announced, Catelyn hurried to her place at the table, wondering what was keeping Ned. Lysa, it turned out, was seated beside her. Undoubtedly, that was Jon Arryn’s doing, keeping Ned safely by him. Wherever Ned was, the King’s Hand must be as well, as the seat on Lysa’s other side was empty. Petyr, much to his chagrin, was not seated anywhere near them, but even from several tables away, she could feel his eyes on her. She remembered uncomfortably the way he’d talked to her both before and after that duel with Brandon, but thought he surely must have forgotten all that foolishness years ago. He would be nearly eight and ten now, far beyond childhood crushes.

She turned to say something to her sister and discovered to her dismay that Lysa was staring at Petyr with the same intensity with which Petyr stared at Catelyn, and she felt even more uncomfortable. At that moment, the King and Queen entered, and like everyone else in the Hall, Catelyn stood up as the royal couple accompanied by two members of the Kingsguard walked to their places at the Head Table. She recognized Robert Baratheon, having met him when he came to Riverrun with Ned. He had left immediately after the weddings and urged Ned and Lord Arryn to follow him as soon as possible. He was as big a man as she remembered, clean shaven with a thick head of black hair. She’d thought him handsome back at Riverrun, but now she could only see the man who had ordered her son stolen from her, and she thought the black of his hair was simply an ugly, outward representation of the blackness of his heart.

She had never before seen Cersei Lannister. She’d met her brother once, when he’d come to Riverrun many years ago, and she recognized Jaime Lannister immediately as the knight in the white cloak who took the seat beside his sister. She was struck by the resemblance between brother and sister, both beautiful and golden. Queen Cersei was as unlike her husband as she was like her brother, the contrast in their appearances just as striking. She stared out at the crowd with a smile that held no warmth, and Catelyn did not see her look at her husband once as they stood there accepting the applause of the gathered assembly.

King Robert spoke a very few words and called for the food to be served. Still no Ned, and Catelyn began to be concerned. She told herself it was all right as long as Jon Arryn was with him, wherever they were, but she couldn’t rid herself entirely of her anxiety. She leaned over to ask Lysa if she knew what could possibly be keeping them, and heard a booming voice speak her name.

“Lady Stark!”

Startled, Catelyn looked up at the head table to see she was being addressed by the king. Quickly, she stood and dropped into a deep curtsy. “Your Grace,” she said.

He laughed. “Well, your manners are better than your lord husband’s, it would seem. Where is Ned?”

Catelyn was uncomfortably aware that everyone in the Hall within easy hearing distance was staring at her. She willed her voice to be firm and confident. “My lord husband’s company was requested by your Hand earlier today, Your Grace, and whatever business Lord Arryn had with him has kept him away longer than he would like. He sent me a message that he would join me here. I know he is most anxious to see you again.”

“Is he now?” Robert Baratheon sounded dubious. “Well, I am anxious to see him at any rate.” He looked hard at her. “Tell me, Lady Stark, how is your little boy? I know it must have been hard for you to leave him.”

Catelyn suddenly had a difficult time breathing. Her vision swam, and she fought to control her emotions. She had never hated anyone as badly as she hated Robert Baratheon in that moment. “He is quite well, Your Grace. We celebrated his second name day just before we came here.” Her voice was surprisingly steady, so she continued, “And yes, it is very difficult for a mother to be separated from her child, just as it is terrible for a young child to be separated from his mother, but Robb is surrounded by people who love and protect him at all times in Winterfell so I have no doubt he will be fine, however much he misses his lord father or myself.”

“Protect him?” Queen Cersei put in, looking at Catelyn shrewdly. “Do you fear some threat to your son, Lady Stark?”

“I am his mother, Your Grace,” Catelyn said, bowing her head slightly. “Protecting my son is something I think about daily, as I am sure you understand well, being a mother yourself.”

“Indeed,” the queen said, giving another of the those lovely, but cold, smiles.

“I am sure my little namesake is well cared for. I can’t imagine Ned leaving him otherwise,” Robert Baratheon said then before going back to his meal without further comment.

After a moment, Catelyn leaned over to Lysa. “Where are they?” she hissed. “Do you know?”

“Where’s who?” Lysa asked, pouring herself more wine from the decanter in front of her.

“Our husbands, of course!”

“Oh, them,” Lysa said vaguely. “I’m not sure, really. Jon said something about Stannis Baratheon, though. Is he here?”

Catelyn suddenly realized there were still empty seats at the head table. The king’s brother was indeed missing. Robert hadn’t even asked after him, though, as far as Catelyn could see. “What about Lady Ashara Dayne? Is she here?”

“Um . . .” Lysa looked around. “No, I don’t think so. I’ve only seen her a couple times. She doesn’t want to be here, you know. Mostly keeps to her rooms.”

“I’m going to go look for them.”

“Cat, don’t be ridiculous. The Red Keep is huge, and you don’t know your way around. I haven’t the vaguest idea how to find them, and I live here. Just enjoy the food.”

“I can’t.” Catelyn saw that various people were rising from their seats and going to converse with other people, so it didn’t seem it would create a stir if she were to get up herself. She walked down the length of her table, smiling at people she knew slightly and wondering just what she was going to do. Lysa was right. She had no idea where to begin.

Suddenly she felt a hand at her arm. “You will attract far less attention if you are accompanied, my lady. Where are you trying to go?”

“Petyr!” Catelyn exclaimed, turning to see the man smiling up at her. He had grown quite a bit, and aged as well, with some prematurely grey hair at his temples, but he was still a small man, not quite as tall as herself. “I . . .I want to look for my husband and Lord Arryn. The king is asking after them.”

“Oh dear,” Petyr said. “That isn’t good. Well, I don’t actually know where they are, but I can help you look in a few likely spots."

“Oh, Petyr, you would? I would be so grateful.” The simple fact of having someone genuinely want to help her trumped all the misgivings she’d had about Petyr earlier in the evening, and she took his arm and allowed him to lead her from the Hall.

“I have missed you, Cat,” he said as soon as they were alone in the corridor.

She wasn’t certain how to respond to that. She prided herself on being honest, but “I haven’t thought of you at all” seemed unkind in the extreme.

“We did have lovely times as children, didn’t we?” she decided to say.

“We aren’t children, Cat. We haven’t been for a long time.” He looked at her intently, and she cleared her throat.

“Where do you think we should look? Lysa said her husband mentioned something about Stannis Baratheon, and I noticed he and his betrothed are missing from the banquet as well.”

“Lady Dayne?” Petyr asked in some surprise. “You know about that, do you?”

“Yes,” Catelyn said, wondering if it were some secret. “My lord husband told me the king had arranged a match.”

“Lord Eddard?” Now Petyr looked decidedly amused. “Eddard Stark spoke to you of Ashara Dayne? That is surprising.”

“Why?”

Petyr licked his lips almost as if he were a predator deciding how quickly he should pounce. “Well, did your lord husband tell you why Stannis Baratheon doesn’t want to marry the Dornish girl?”

“He . . .no . . .I assumed he simply does not like being forced to marry.” The gods knew her uncle had resisted her father’s efforts to marry him off all these years.

“She’s ruined, Cat. The girl is no maid, and too many people know it. She gave birth to a stillborn bastard, oh--two, maybe three years ago.”

Catelyn’s eyes went wide. “I didn’t know.”

“Living in that frozen wasteland, leagues from civilization? With Eddard Stark? Of course, you wouldn’t know. That’s why she wasn’t here with Elia Martell when King’s Landing was sacked. She’d been sent away in disgrace when her condition was discovered. Apparently, Stannis Baratheon objects to having soiled goods foisted upon him in order to help his brother control Arthur Dayne.”

Catelyn’s mind swirled, trying to process this new information. She wondered if Ned knew about that and decided it was unlikely. He’d have told her about it. “I need to find my husband, Petyr,” she said. “Where should we look?”

“Well, since you think his absence may have something to do with Lady Dayne, mayhaps we should go this way.” He looked at her. “But only if you are certain you want to do this, Cat.”

He was making no sense. She didn’t think Ned’s absence had to do specifically with Lady Dayne. It had to do with Jon Arryn. She’d simply tried to give him all the information she could about Jon Arryn’s possible reasons for being so long gone. “Of course, I’m certain. Let’s go, Petyr.”

He led her down several twisted corridors and up two flights of stairs. He pointed to the door ahead of them. This is where Lady Dayne stays, Cat. She rarely leaves her rooms. If anyone wanted to see her, they would come here, and if they came earlier, mayhaps she will know where they’ve gone.”

It seemed a long shot, but she had no other suggestions, so she walked up to the door. Before she could knock however, she realized it was partially ajar. A distraught female voice said, “I cannot do it, Ned! I cannot keep pretending! It’s too difficult!”

 _Ned?_ Catelyn’s head swam. _Ned?_

“You must, Ashara. You have no choice now.” Catelyn knew that voice as well as she knew her own, and she felt her heart drop to her feet.

“It isn’t fair,” the woman said. “How can I tell such a lie? How do I live with myself?”

“It will keep you safe. It will keep those we love safer.” Ned’s voice paused, and in her mind she could see him swallow the way he did when he had to say something he found difficult. “Please, Ashara, I know I have no right to ask anything of you at this point, but I am asking that you do this . . .for all of us.”

“I wish we could go back,” the woman said dully, and Catelyn found herself drawn inexorably to the partially open door. She pushed on it ever so slightly until she could see them. A woman with long dark hair stood with her back to the door. “I wish we could go back to Harrenhal, have that dance again, and then change everything that’s come after.”

Standing far too close to the woman with his hands on her arms, was Catelyn’s husband. She could see his face. She could see the sorrow in those grey eyes that she loves as he said. “We can never go back, my lady. We can only go forward.”

She couldn’t bear to see anymore. She turned and fled, pushing past Petyr and running down the corridor.

“Cat! Wait!” He called after her loudly. “Cat, let me help you!”

She ignored him and kept running until she realized she was quite lost. Then she sank down in a corner to cry.

“What’s the matter, my lady? Baelish not as good as he used to be?”

Startled, Catelyn looked up to see too very drunken men, one quite a bit taller than the other, leering at her.

“Evening, Lady Stark,” one of the men said. “If Baelish makes you cry, we can likely make you smile.”

“I . . .what do you mean?” she stammered. Then “Get off me!” as one of them grabbed her by the arms.

“Aw, come on now. Young Petyr’s told us all about how you and that sister of yours let him take turns with the two of you.”

“What?!”

“And we saw you leave the Hall with him,” put in the other, reaching out a hand to touch the front of her dress. He just laughed when she slapped it away. “Aw, now play nice, Lady Stark, and we won’t tell your lord husband any of the things young Petyr told us. You’re obviously still willing to play with him so why not play with us, too?”

“Don’t touch me!” she shrieked, as he reached for her again.

The man who’d originally grabbed her arms moved behind her then, grabbing both her arms again and pulling them behind her. “You like it rough, my lady? We can do it that way, if you prefer, but I’d hate to mark you up. Baelish said you were the prettier one, and he was right.”

The second man laughed again. “Hold her still now, and I’ll return the favor.” Then he pressed himself up against her, his mouth hot on her neck and on hand grabbing her teat painfully through her dress.

She screamed, and then suddenly there was a loud noise and he was off her. The grip on her from behind loosened as well and she spun away, opening eyes she hadn’t realized she had closed. The man who’d been in front now lay on the floor, blood spurting from his nose and mouth. The man who’d held her arms was now being held up against the wall by his throat by a man whose face was icy still, but whose grey eyes blazed with fury.

“Don’t kill him!” she managed to croak. “They’ll arrest you!”

Her words got through to him, and he slowly released his hold on the man’s throat. He then drew back his fist and smashed into the man’s face. Catelyn watched him fall to the ground beside his friend, both now bleeding and neither offering to rise.

Ned turned toward her, seemingly unable to speak for a moment. “Are you all right?” he finally managed to croak.”

“No,” she said simply before she had a chance to think of anything else to say.

As he continued to look at her, she became aware that someone else was watching her as well, and she turned to see the woman who must be Ashara Dayne looking at the scene with an expression of horror. In spite of that, Catelyn had to admit she was stunningly beautiful. Contrasting with that long raven hair was a pair of striking violet eyes, now wide with shock.

“Cat,” Ned said hoarsely, and she turned back to face him once more. “Come with me.”

She looked at him and slowly shook her head. “I don’t believe I’m the one you want, Ned,” she said softly. “And I am not any good at pretending.”

She then turned and walked down the corridor with two men lying on the floor and her husband and Ashara Dayne staring after her.


	11. Eddard

Ned Stark was more than a little irritated when Jon Arryn arrived to steal him away from his wife when they had barely finished their morning meal. He knew the man would not insist on speaking with him if it weren’t important, and coming to some sort of resolution to this situation with Robert was why they were here after all, but his mind was completely full of Catelyn, and he did not want to leave her. Not for an hour or even for five minutes. Not now.

_I would choose to wed you now, Eddard Stark._

Her words had been a gift. A most welcome and unexpected gift after all he’d caused her to suffer. _I would choose to wed you_ _now._ And even in the dark, those blue eyes had shone with emotion so deep, it had nearly stricken him dead simply to see it and realize it was truly for him. And how had he responded? He’d virtually attacked her. He was ashamed by the sheer force of the desire which had siezed him at hearing those unbelievable words. Yet, after her initial surprise, she had seemed to want him with a comparable desire herself.

And he wanted her just as badly even now. Just thinking about last night as he walked down the corridor with Jon caused a jolt of desire to shoot through him, and he tried desperately to think of anything else before his cock became completely stiff and strained against his breeches.

Even as he’d shown her how much he wanted and needed her last night, he’d felt somehow guilty that he had not answered her spoken words. This morning when he’d left her, he’d pondered what he should say. As he washed and shaved and dressed for the day, he tried to think of something that wouldn’t be too much, but would let her know he would choose her as well. Every day. For all their days. He’d recalled telling her that he wed her for an army. _Gods, Fool! You left her thinking she’s_ _nothing more than men-at-arms and a warm place to ease your lust!_ He decided to say something to make it clear that was not the case. Not now. He’d practiced, but when he’d gotten back to her chambers found himself still unable to say it looking at her lovely blue eyes. He’d waited until she took his arm, and then leaned down to whisper it in her ear.

He smiled now, recalling her reaction. His words must have been all right, because he could not recall many things ever leaving his lady wife speechless.

“We can talk in here, Ned,” Jon said, leading him into a small room after they’d gone some way. He sounded grim.

“What’s this about, Jon?” he asked. “Catelyn is understandably nervous about being here, and I don’t want to leave her for . . .”

“Catelyn may have more reason to be nervous about being here than she knows.”

“What?” Ned looked at the man he considered his second father. He had never heard Jon speak Catelyn’s name without the honorific ‘Lady’ in front of it before, and his general demeanor reminded him of years past when Robert or he were about to be verbally lashed for some wrongdoing.

Jon sighed. “I don’t know how to go about this other than to just come straight out and ask you. Did you bed Ashara Dayne at that damned tournament in Harrenhal?”

“What?!?” he demanded. “What the bloody hell kind of question is that, Jon?”

Jon sighed. “Apparently, it’s a necessary one. Sit down, Ned.” He indicated two chairs and sank into one himself.

“I won’t sit down! I want to know why you’re asking me such a thing!”

“Keep your voice down!” Jon said, raising his own voice just a bit. “And I’ll tell you the whole thing, but it’s a bit complicated, and you ought to sit down.”

Ned glared at him for a moment. “I cannot believe you ask such a thing of me.”

Jon looked at him levelly. “Ned, you are not Robert. You are more honorable than almost any young man I’ve ever known. I once told your father that my own House Words fit you better than they had several Arryns I knew of. But you are a young man. And you were not wed then.” He looked down. “I knew about Kiesy.”

At the girl’s name, Ned felt cold with shame. Jon had never said anything to him about the girl in the Eyrie.

“Her mother came to me. Apparently, she’d realized something was amiss with the girl and then beat her half to death until she told her the truth of it.”

Now Ned did sit down, fearing he might fall down if he did not. “I . . .I never knew that,” he said.

“I know,” Jon said quietly. “The girl told me how it had happened. She and Robert had conspired to get you drunk, and she’d gone willingly to your bed. She hadn’t gotten with child from you, and she said you’d ended it immediately. That’s what had upset her and got her mother suspicious. Anyway, you had done the honorable thing after the fact, so I paid the woman a goodly sum and found her and her daughter employment elsewhere in the Vale.”

Ned must have still looked stricken because Jon added, “She’s married now, I heard. Got several children of her own, and not one of them looks like a Stark.”

Ned startled at that. “I never bedded Ashara,” he blurted out. “Not that it’s any of your business, actually.”

“It has become my business if you fathered her child.”

“Child?!?” Ned choked out, exceptionally thankful that he was already sitting down. “What child?”

“You don’t know, do you?” Jon said slowly.

“What are you talking about, Jon?” Ned demanded.

The older man sighed deeply. “Ashara Dayne gave birth to a child. A stillborn girl. Roughly nine moons after the tournament in Harrenhal.”

Ned could actually feel the color drain from his face. _Brandon._ Ashara had told him she’d bedded his brother in Harrenhal.

“Ned?” Jon asked carefully. “Are you telling me there is no way you could be the father of that child? You truly did not bed the lady?”

“Gods, Jon! I told you I didn’t! Do you want the names of every woman I’ve ever bedded? It isn’t a long list, my lord, I assure you. And other than Kiesy and my lady wife, it is comprised entirely of women who bedded men for a living. Ashara Dayne is most assuredly not on it.”

“You danced with her and then you went to her bedchamber, Ned. You were seen going in with her. And you were there for some time.”

The memories from that night swirled around in his head. The dancing, the kissing, Ashara’s hand sliding beneath his breeches to touch him, her dress sliding down to the floor revealing her beautiful body to him.

He swallowed. “I did go to her bedchamber. She invited me there. She . . .she was willing, and I wanted her, but . . .she was a lady, Jon! I couldn’t! I . . .we stopped. I did not bed her!” He was getting very angry now. “And who the hell was following me through Harrenhal years ago who decided to come and tell you about it now?”

“There isn’t any chance you simply don’t remember? If you’d been drinking?” Jon asked, without answering his question.

“I wasn’t drunk, Jon!” he shouted, standing up now and pacing the floor. “I remember it all. Gods, if I had been drunk, I may well have bedded her that night. I wanted to badly enough! But I wasn’t drunk, and I did not bed her! I have never bedded Ashara Dayne! Who says such a thing?” He stood right over Jon as he demanded that last.

Jon looked up at him and did not look away as he said, “Ashara Dayne.”

Ned stared at him, blinking stupidly. “Why? Why would she say such a thing?” he asked. “She knows it isn’t true.”

“Sit down, Ned,” Jon said tiredly, “And please try to keep your voice down. Virtually no one ever comes near here, but I never know who might have reason to listen when they should not in this place.”

“Why would Lady Ashara come to you with such a tale, Jon? It is false.” Ned shook his head, trying to make sense of it.

“She didn’t tell me. She told Stannis Baratheon. He came to Robert and myself this morning.”

“Oh, gods,” Ned sighed.

“Stannis had just about settled himself to the idea of wedding a lady who was not a maid. She is beautiful, after all, and if Stannis treats her kindly, she may well be a good wife to him.” It occurred to Ned that his idea of a good marriage had altered very much over time from Jon’s pragmatic view, and even as that thought formed, he was stabbed with the fear that this terrible lie would somehow reach Catelyn’s ears.

“Jon, who knows this?” he demanded.

“About the dead bastard, or that the woman has named you the father?” Jon asked.

“Both, I suppose,” Ned said helplessly.

“Lady Dayne’s pregnancy was discovered here in King’s Landing, and King Aerys sent her away in shame. The reason for her hasty departure was not made public, but all those on the small council knew as well as the members of the Targaryen Kingsguard. As several of those men still serve King Robert, there are quite a few in the Red Keep who know of the child. You can be certain the queen knows. I do not believe her brother keeps anything from her.”

“The babe saved her life,” Ned murmured. “She’d have been here, with the Princess when Lannister sacked the city.”

Jon nodded. “That’s likely true,” he said. “As for your part in it, Stannis burst into a meeting about the treasury with Robert, myself, and young Petyr Baelish. It was Baelish who told me that the tale of your bedding the lady was quite well known, Ned.”

“Petyr Baelish wasn’t even at Harrenhal! He was a boy in Riverrun! An idiot who challenged my brother to duel!”

“No, he wasn’t there, but I’ve learned that the man collects information almost as tirelessly as Varys. He’s quite good at finding out things that other people have hidden.”

“And my brother left him scarred for daring to claim a right to the hand of my wife! The man has reason to mislike Starks, Jon!”

Jon nodded. “I know that, Ned. But it doesn’t explain Lady Ashara’s motives. And she now refuses to speak with me.”

It suddenly occurred to Ned that Jon hadn’t said a word about Robert’s reaction to all this. Robert had been at Harrenhal. He’d ribbed him terribly about dancing with Ashara and promptly disappearing with her. Did he believe this story? “And Robert?” he said. “What has Robert said about all this?”

“Robert believes it’s the most excellent news he’s received in a long time,” Jon said.

Ned raised a brow questioningly, and Jon sighed heavily once again. “As I said, Stannis had more or less resolved himself to marrying the woman until she told him this. Then he was furious. Somehow knowing she’d borne a dead babe to a nameless, faceless man was not as great an insult as knowing that his future bride had been bedded by the same Eddard Stark whose actions regarding a supposed Targaryen bastard and Ser Arthur Dayne had prompted this marriage to occur in the first place.”

Ned knew enough about Stannis Baratheon to see how the injustice of that would eat away at the man, and he nodded. “Go on.”

“Robert just threw back his head and laughed his fool head off. He told Stannis he most definitely was going to marry the girl now because she’d just become more valuable than ever. He said, ‘Don’t you see? Ned Stark is hiding that accursed prince’s bastard for the sake of his dead sister’s honor. What will he be willing to do for the honor of a living woman? One whose honor he stole in the first place?’ Then he laughed some more and told Stannis not to fear because his bride’s little secret would remain just that because you would never breathe a word to dishonor her. Once Stannis stormed out, Robert informed me he intends to tell you he knows about your bastard on Lady Dayne, and if you ever produce this nephew of yours to challenge for the Iron Throne or if Arthur Dayne does, he will publicly expose Lady Ashara’s shame and name you as the father. Stannis, being Stannis, would publicly disown her in all likelihood in such an event, and you would be publicly revealed as a man who knowingly wed a highborn lady while another highborn lady already carried his child. While you might not care what anyone says about you, he couldn’t imagine you dragging both your Lady Catelyn and Lady Dayne down into such deep dishonor. He believes he has you now.”

Ned stared at him for a long while, realizing that it honestly didn’t matter that he had never bedded Ashara Dayne. Now that the idea had occurred to Robert, he would not hesitate to act on it, regardless of the facts. “Doesn’t he yet know how unnecessary this all is?” he asked Jon wearily. “My nephew is no threat to him. I will never propose him as any sort of heir to the Iron Throne.”

“Your nephew will grow up one day, Ned,” Jon said softly. “And have children who will then have children. As long as they are aware of their lineage, any one of them could develop lofty ambitions and thus become a threat to Robert’s own children and their children.”

“I cannot give the man surety for untold generations, Jon,” Ned said in frustration. “And when it comes to that, he’s enough bastards of his own to challenge his trueborn son down the line.”

“I have told him as much, “ Jon said.

As he and Jon sat in silence for some time, Ned’s mind returned to the as of yet unanswered question. “Why would Lady Ashara say such a thing in the first place?” he asked.

Jon shook his head. “I do not know.” He looked at Ned very carefully then. “But mayhaps you should thank her for it.”

“What?” Ned exploded once more.

Jon made a shushing motion with his hands. “Think about it, Ned. If Robert believes he has a foolproof method for making certain of your good behavior, he has no need of your son or any of your future children, does he?”

Ned stared at him, realizing this possibility for the first time.

“I know he threatened your wife and son when you were imprisoned, Ned,” Jon said softly. “And he even sent men to Riverrun after them. But he’s mellowed on that front. He has!” Jon insisted. “And if he can grab at any other solution to what he believes lies between you, he will.”

“Mellowed!?!” Ned had reached his breaking point. “Damn the man to hell, Jon! He had his thugs in Winterfell abduct Robb just after the invitation to this bloody feast arrived!”

The color drained from Jon’s face. “You . . .you must be mistaken. He had spoken of it long ago, but we talked, and he saw how foolish, how . . .”

“I did not mistake riding after that villain Arryk and his partner Marni for a day and a night after they stole my son from his own nursery, Jon! My son could have been killed!”

Jon seemed to age even as Ned looked at him. “Your son . . .he is safe and well?”

“He is safe and well. No thanks to Robert. Jon, I wanted to kill him,” Ned said quietly.

Jon shook his head stubbornly. “He didn’t do this thing on his own, Ned. I know he wouldn’t. In the beginning, yes, when he was full of fury and temper. But not now.” The old man hung his head for a moment and then looked back up at Ned. “Robert is a strong warrior, Ned. He is brave. And he is good. But he is not a strong king. He is bored by the business of running a kingdom, and he is easily led to things. I know too many people whisper in his ear, but as to who would whisper such a terrible thing as this?” He shook his head again. “I need to find out.”

Ned stood up. “I need to think on what I will do with this,” he said. “Before my lady wife hears about it from someone else.”

“If you decide to let things stand as they are, she may need never to know anything of it,” Jon said, especially if you leave King’s Landing quickly enough."

Ned shook his head. “No,” he said. “I fully intended to begin my marriage with a lie in the matter of Lyanna’s son. You know that.”

Jon nodded. “Would that you had succeeded, Ned. We’d all be better off now.”

“Sometimes I think the same,” Ned said. “But we cannot go back. Only forward. As for my lady wife, I can no longer justify a lie to her for any cause, Jon. We have passed that point, and she will have the truth from me. Once I know what I intend to do.”

As he walked from the little room, leaving the old man he still loved like a father sitting despondently in his chair, Ned’s thoughts again turned to last night and this morning with Catelyn. _When will I ever stop hurting you, Cat? Why does every deed_ _in my life somehow seem able to cause you pain?_ Perhaps, though, if this particular situation could buy safety for Robb and any other children they might have, she would once again forgive him any pain he caused. He wondered how great her capacity for forgiveness was and hoped he never had to find its limit.

Weary and unsure of what he needed to do, he sought out the godswood. The godswood of the Red Keep was a pretty place, but its heart tree was a great oak, nearly covered with smokeberry vines rather than a white weirwood with its red face. Ned longed for his own heart tree in Winterfell, but he had no recourse but kneel down here, cry out to the old gods, and hope they could still hear at least in this land where they had no eyes.

He had no idea how long he knelt there, but the sun journeyed a good distance through he sky before he stood again, still uneasy, but having chosen a direction. _Family,_ he thought. _Gods, I haven’t only wed a Tully. I’m becoming one._ At any rate, the safety of his family had to come first for him. He could make no other choice.

Almost as soon as he was indoors again, he walked directly into the path of Stannis Baratheon. The younger man’s dark blue eyes blazed at him, but the only other sign of emotion on his face was his tightly clenched jaw, and Ned could actually hear him grinding his teeth. Stannis was nearly three years younger than Robert and himself, but the man’s black hair was already starting to thin, making him appear much older in some ways. His perpetual scowl added to the effect.

“Stark,” he said. “Come to laugh at me like my brother does?”

Ned shook his head. “I don’t find anything about you to laugh at, my lord.”

“Oh, really? Come to give me tips for my wedding night, then? As you apparently know all about pleasing my bride?”

Ned clenched his own jaw then, biting back the angry denial that came almost automatically. He had to choose his words carefully from now on. “I would never speak a word of dishonor about Lady Ashara, my lord. She is a lovely, kind, and intelligent lady. You are to be congratulated on your marriage, Lord Stannis. I wish you both joy.”

“You mock me,” Robert’s brother said bitterly, grinding his teeth harder.

“No, I do not,” Ned said earnestly, looking directly at the man who did not seem to want to meet his eyes, willing him to see the truth of this at least. “Lady Ashara Dayne is a woman of honor, my lord. Whatever you may think you know or have been told about events long past, I am sincere when I say that she will be a wife you can take pride in. I hope you will get to know her before you wed, and you will learn this for yourself. I have found great joy in my marriage, Lord Stannis, and I do wish you and Lady Ashara the same.”

Stannis Baratheon did not reply then. He only stared at Ned for a long time as if looking for the jape in his words and being unable to find it.

“My lords!” A young boy in Arryn colors came running up to them then. “My lords, have you seen Lord Arryn?”

“I was with him earlier,” Ned replied, “but that was a long time ago.”

The little boy, who Ned surmised must be a page of some sort, nodded vigorously. “I know, Lord Stark, but the king was looking for him and now it’s past time to dress for tonight’s banquet and no one’s seen him since he was with you.”

That alarmed Ned somewhat. “Is Lady Arryn looking for him?”

The boy shook his head. “She got tired of waiting for him and left word she’d have Lord Baelish escort her to the banquet and Lord Arryn could meet her there.”

 _Baelish._ The man’s name made Ned scowl after Jon had told him of his eagerness to lend credence to the tale he’d bedded Ashara Dayne. He pushed thoughts of Baelish aside. “Let’s go back to where I met with Lord Arryn earlier, son. We can start our search from there.”

Ned quickly took leave of the still silent Stannis Baratheon and led the boy back to the little room where he had spoken with Jon. When he opened the door, his heart nearly stopped, for Jon sat still as death in the same chair where Ned had left him.

“Jon?” he said, in a choked voice.

The older man turned slowly toward him. “How do I help him Ned?” he asked. “How do I keep him from tearing himself and the Seven Kingdoms apart?” His voice sounded hollow.

Ned swallowed hard. “First, Jon, you rest. You are doing far too much for Robert as it is.” He turned to the boy. “Help me get Lord Arryn back to the Tower of the Hand.”

Surprisingly little notice was paid to the three as they made their way slowly to the Hand’s Tower and Jon’s chambers. Ned supposed everyone was preoccupied with the beginning of the banquet. Jon leaned heavily on Ned, but in truth seemed more mentally and emotionally drained than physically weak. As he helped him into his room, and bid him lie down, he assured him he would let his lady wife know where he was.

“I have to attend the banquet, Ned,” Jon insisted.

“Later, Jon. It will go on half the night, you know. Rest first. I will see to things.”

Jon had given him a sort of half smile. “Would that you had been the one with a Targaryen blood connection,” he said gravely. “You would have made a fine king, Ned.”

“I don’t want to be king,” Ned told him.

“I know. That’s one reason you would have made a good one.”

Jon closed his eyes, and Ned went to search out parchment and quill from his desk. Quickly he penned a note for Catelyn and bid Jon’s page find Lady Stark’s room and give the note to the man outside it. He stayed with Lord Arryn until he was certain the man slept, and then he left the chambers to see the one person he most needed to speak with now.

He didn’t know where Lady Ashara was staying, but he found servants who could give him directions easily enough. He only hoped she had not yet left for the banquet. When he heard her voice answer his knock at her door, he honestly did not know whether to be pleased or disappointed.

Pushing the door open, he walked in, and the door swung back of its own accord when he let it go. He turned to make certain it had closed all the way when a startled gasp turned him right back around.

Apparently, she had been just out of sight in a small side room. She now stood in the doorway from that room staring at him as if he were an apparition of some sort. He walked toward her, the door behind him now forgotten. “Hello, Lady Ashara,” he said.

“Ned,” she breathed. “I had heard you arrived in King’s Landing. With your lady wife.”

“Indeed, my lady,” he said, still regarding her carefully. “I have learned some interesting things today.”

She said nothing, simply returning his gaze.

“First I learned that you gave birth to a child. A daughter. I am very sorry she did not survive, my lady.”

The expression of sympathy seemed to surprise her, and her eyes widened slightly. “Thank you,” she said simply.

“Secondly, I learned I was the father of this child,” he continued, not looking away from her. When she still did not respond, he added, “You can imagine how this news surprised me. Would you care to enlighten me as to precisely how I managed to father this child? Because I am at a loss to explain it, my lady.”

Her cool demeanor cracked then. “Oh, Ned,” she said. “I am sorry.” She turned her back on him then and said nothing more.

“I fear you will have to do better than that, my lady. Mayhaps you feel you owe me nothing more after helping me escape your brother’s trap when I left Starfall, but I believe I am at least entitled to know why Stannis Baratheon believes I fathered your child.”

“It was a misunderstanding,” she said, not turning around. “And then I chose not to correct it.”

“My lady?”

She did turn around then. “Sit down, Ned,” she said, and Ned reflected that that particular request had not been followed by any words he truly wished to hear today. Still he sat down, and after a moment’s hesitation, she sat down across from him.

“You know I was essentially kidnapped and brought here to marry Lord Stannis, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“Lord Stannis is less than enthused by the prospect,” she said drily.

“I would imagine the lack of enthusiasm holds true for you as well.”

She nodded. “Neither of us has a choice, it would seem. Better Stannis than his royal brother. He’s the coldest man I’ve ever met, but at least he isn’t a drunkard or a fool.”

Ned chose not to acknowledge her characterization of Robert. “No,” he said. “Lord Stannis is neither of those things.”

“He keeps trying to get me to tell him where Arthur is. He thinks I know. He thinks if he can capture Arthur, he won’t have to wed me.”

“You do know where Arthur is,” Ned said, suddenly sure of it.

Her eyebrows raised again.

“He came to you when I set him free. Likely he came to you again, angry at your having helped me. But still, he is your brother. He would have known as well as I that Robert could attempt to harm him through his family. He would not have left you with no way to contact him.”

She snorted. “For all the good it did me once Doran Martell threw his lot in with the Usurper.”

“I’d have a care referring to King Robert by that epithet here in the Red Keep, my lady.”

“I don’t much care what they do to me, my lord. And I won’t give them Arthur.”

“No,” Ned said. “You’ll wed Stannis, warm his bed, and bear him children before you give up your brother.” He paused. “I told him you’d be a good wife if he treated you with the respect you deserve.”

She laughed at that. “A good wife. I’m spoiled goods in his eyes, Ned. I don’t see him ever getting over that. But he won’t defy his brother any more than I’ll betray mine, so likely I’ll be his wife in any event. It matters little. We both know Arthur’s dream of putting in Rhaegar’s son on the throne is an empty one. He cannot even rally all of Dorne to his cause. You have the boy spirited away as if by magic, if he even still lives.”

“He still lives,” Ned confirmed, “And I will betray him no sooner than you would your brother.”

“My brother would say you betray him already by denying him his throne.”

Ned looked at her, raising a brow in challenge to those words. “And do you see anyway my not quite two year old nephew can take this throne, my lady?”

“No.”

“And do you see him surviving an attempt to do so?”

“No.”

“Then I am forced to disagree with your brother’s interpretation of my actions.”

She didn’t respond to that.

“But I am not here to discuss your brother or even your impending marriage. I am sorry for the position in which you find yourself, and if I had a solution for it, I would offer it, but I do not. I am still curious as to why Stannis Baratheon thinks I fathered your daughter.”

She looked down. “He came here entirely too early this morning. He actually asked me to attend the banquet with him.” She laughed. “As if I had any intention of attending their stupid banquet. He started talking about how it seemed that we were going to be wed whatever the two of us may think about it, and that perhaps it was time we started accepting it. That perhaps if we got to know each other a bit, it would be some small amount less dreadful for both of us.”

“And?”

“And that made me mad,” she said. “I at least respected him when he would come and try to coerce or trick me into telling him anything about Arthur. Now I didn’t like or respect him and I told him as much.”

“I don’t imagine he took that very well.”

“No. He called me a whore and told me I had no room to speak of respect when I spread my legs for some stablehand or kitchen boy.”

Ned did not allow himself to react, but he could imagine Ashara’s response to such insults. “And how did you answer him, my lady?”

“I lost my temper,” she said, looking down for a moment. Then she looked back up at him. “I told him that he knew nothing, and that I’d rather have a Stark’s cock in my cunt without benefit of a marriage cloak than his pitiful member there with one.”

Ned closed his eyes. “The babe was Brandon’s, wasn’t it?” he said softly.

“Yes.”

“Did he know?”

“No. I knew he was betrothed to Catelyn Tully when I took him into my bed. I had no cause to ruin his marriage contract. I would have told him after. Given him a chance to acknowledge the child if he chose. But I intended to raise her myself. I didn’t need your brother.”

Ned knew it didn’t matter, but he was glad Brandon hadn’t known. He didn’t know what the right thing would have been, but he was glad his brother hadn’t simply abandoned Ashara and his unborn child without a thought. “Stannis thought you meant me,” he said then.

She nodded. “He looked at me, all big eyes and slack jaw. It was almost funny. I’d never seen that expression on his face. And he said, ‘Stark? Your child was Eddard Stark’s bastard?"

“Why did you lie to him then?” Ned asked.

“I didn’t,” she said simply. “I only told him that Eddard Stark is twice the man he is. He got angry and stormed out.”

“Ashara,” Ned said, shaking his head.

“It’s true,” she said. “You are.” She sighed. “Bring me my future lord husband and I will correct his misperception.”

“It isn’t that simple, my lady,” he told her.

“You’re likely right. Given his lofty opinion of me, he’ll only jump to the conclusion that I fucked both of you, but I can’t do anything about that.”

Ned grimaced at the way she spoke of herself, the bitterness in her voice. He’d told Catelyn that Lady Dayne deserved a better fate. He hadn’t realized just how dismal a fate she was preparing herself for and seemingly doing all in her power to make as dreadful as possible.

“That isn’t what I meant,” he said, and briefly, he told her about Robert’s plan for making use of this knowledge.

She actually laughed. “You realize, of course, that your friend Robert can do precisely that whether I tell him the truth or not. Even if he believes me.”

“I do. And that may not be a bad thing.”

“What?” she looked at him disbelievingly. “My lady, I know you do not believe me, but Stannis Baratheon is at the very least a just man if not a terribly forgiving one. He is also a young man. Given time, particularly if you bear him children, I think he can come to at least respect you as the mother of those children. You could find some measure of happiness in them at least. In regards to your brother, I know Ser Arthur loves you. If he believes you and any children you have would be harmed if he acts against Robert, he may stay his hand. That helps keep him alive. And if Robert ever attempts to go after him,” Ned shrugged. “Tell Robert that you will make it known to everyone that I fathered your child and that I willingly abandoned you for the promise of Hoster Tully’s army. That would ruin my name, make me very angry, and leave me with nothing to lose. Two can play at Robert’s little game, my lady, and he will be forced to see that our secret is best kept for everyone involved.”

“We have no secret,” she protested. “And I would never do that to you.”

“Robert needn’t know that.”

She swallowed. “No secret remains entirely secret, Ned, once more than one person knows it. There will forever be whispers.”

“Those shall bother you more than I. I won’t hear much of them as far away as Winterfell. And there will be whispers about you anyway, I’m afraid. You might as well reap some benefit.”

“Why would you do this for me? Or for Arthur?”

“I don’t. I have a wife and a son. Robert’s believing he has this to hold over me affords them some protection as well. Whatever else you believe about Robert, he is not an essentially cruel man. Rash and violent at times to the point that harm is done, but not intentionally cruel.”

The look she gave him then told him she would never be convinced of that.

“I don’t know if I can do it!” she said suddenly, rising from the chair and walking away from him again. “I’m so tired of it all. I feel as if my whole existence has become a mummer’s farce and now you want me to make some silly words I spoke in anger into a lie I keep telling forever? A lie that makes you out to be a man with little honor?” She turned back to face him. “How do I do that, Ned? How do I keep doing it? Over and over?”

“You keep doing it because it’s the best option we have now. You remember the lie I intended to tell when I first took my sister’s son, do you not? I would have told it over and over for all the boys life, and I don’t know how difficult it would have become because the chance to do it was taken from me.” He got up and walked to her. “We all would have been safer with that lie, Ashara. It might have been more difficult for me, living with it. But we would have been safer. And so I would have kept telling it.”

“Easy for you to say now,” she said, pushing past him toward the door into the corridor. He grabbed her arms and spun her around to face him lest she attempt to go and leave him there. He had to make her understand that their choices had been essentially reduced to this one.

“It is not easy for me to say now, for I shall be telling this lie right along with you. Should Robert ask me, I shall not deny fathering your child. My wife will likely hear of it. I will tell her the truth, my lady, but she, too, will have to live with this lie. And I will bear the responsibility for that!”

She looked at him for a long moment and then cried out, “I cannot do it, Ned! I cannot keep pretending! It’s too difficult!”

“You must, Ashara. You have no choice now.” He did not let go of her arms and held her gaze with his own.

She shook her head. “It isn’t fair. How can I tell such a lie? How do I live with myself?”

“It will keep you safe. It will keep those we love safer.” He paused, wanting to find the right words. He swallowed and then said, “Please, Ashara, I know I have no right to ask anything of you at this point, but I am asking that you do this . . .for all of us.”

“I wish we could go back,” she said, looking down at her feet, her voice sounding almost dead. “I wish we could go back to Harrenhal, have that dance again, and then change everything that’s come after.”

He remembered how alive she’d been there, and the dullness in her eyes and voice broke his heart, but while he would change many things if given the chance, he certainly would not change everything. And changing the past was beyond his power anyway. He looked at Ashara sadly and repeated the words he’d spoken to Jon earlier that day. “We can never go back, my lady. We can only go forward. I have made a life, a good one, and I would wish for you the same, but . . .”

“Cat! Wait!” called a male voice from the corridor. _Cat?_ “Cat, let me help you!”

Panic seized Ned, and he dropped Ashara’s arms and ran to the door. A small man stood outside the door, staring up the corridor. When Ned turned in the direction of the man’s gaze, he caught sight of a fleeing woman in a blue and grey dress with an unmistakable cascade of auburn hair flying behind her.

“Oh gods,” he whispered, feeling sick. “Cat.”

Ashara appeared behind him in the doorway. “Lord Baelish?” she said in confusion, looking at the small man.

“Baelish?” Ned said. “Petyr Baelish?” He grabbed the little man and held him up against the wall. “What have you done to my wife?”

“I have done nothing, my lord,” the little man said with remarkably clear diction for someone in imminent danger of being strangled. “She was worried about you. Wanted to find you. I thought you might be here. She heard you and your paramour and she ran.”

“Paramour?!?” Ned bellowed. But even his rage at Baelish was dwarfed by his concern for what his wife might have heard. For what his wife must think. He let go of the little man suddenly, letting him drop to the floor and ran to find his wife.

He started to call after her, but then he thought that she likely didn’t want to see him, and so he moved as silently as possible. He had to get to her, but there were so many twists and turns.

“Stop!” he heard someone call out. “Ned, stop.”

He turned and saw Ashara behind him. She was the last person he needed right now, but before he could tell her that, she said, “You’ll never find her charging around like crazed man. I know these passages. Let’s take them in a pattern.”

 _I am a crazed man,_ he thought, but he could see the sense in her suggestion and he simply nodded. He followed her lead for a few moments, and then he heard Catelyn scream. He charged in the direction of her voice and rounded a corner to see two men accosting his wife. One held her tightly while the other groped at her and put his mouth on her.

Ned lost all rational thought at that instant. He raced forward and grabbed the man pawing at Catelyn before his friend could shout a warning. He spun him around and put his fist into his nose, feeling it break on impact. The man dropped like a stone, and Ned rounded on the other man. He’d let go of Cat, and she’d lunged away from him. Ned grabbed his throat and threw him against the wall, squeezing the throat more tightly.

Vaguely, he became aware that Catelyn was saying something. She was telling him not to kill the man. Why shouldn’t he kill him? But she sounded frightened. Frightened for him. He released the man’s throat and broke his nose with his fist as well. Then he truly looked at his wife.

Her face was tearstained and her braids were torn down on one side. She looked terrified and somehow broken even though she appeared uninjured. Finally, he managed to ask her, “Are you all right?”

“No,” she said without hesitating, and the desolation in her voice told him immediately she wasn’t referring to anything done by the two men on the floor. She looked away from him then, and he followed her gaze to see Ashara staring at them. The expression on his wife’s face as she looked at Ashara tore him in two.

“Cat,” he said desperately, and she turned back to look at him, disbelief, pain, and betrayal evident in her blue eyes. “Come with me,” he pleaded. He needed to get her away from here. He needed to talk with her. He had to make her understand.

But she just shook her head slowly and said, “I don’t believe I’m the one you want, Ned. And I am not any good at pretending.”

She simply walked away from him then, leaving him numb with shock, staring after her. “You are all I want,” he whispered after she had gone. “You are everything.”

“Then go after her, fool. Don’t stand here with me.” Ashara’s voice brought his head around to look at her. She had tears in her eyes. “Go,” she said more urgently. “It won’t get any easier, Ned.”

Without a backward glance, he took off again after his wife. She didn’t run away when he caught up to her, but she didn’t stop walking and she wouldn’t look at him.

“Catelyn, stop. Please talk to me,” he begged her.

“Go away, Ned. Go to your room, or to the banquet, or back to your lover. I don’t care.”

“She’s not my lover!”

Catelyn kept walking with no further words. He decided not to keep badgering her in the corridor, so he simply followed behind her. They passed a few people, but if anyone noticed anything amiss, they didn’t comment on it. When they reached her door, she stopped and turned around. “Please go away, my lord. You cannot come in here.”

“I must come in, my lady. I have to talk to you.”

“I have no wish to speak with you right now.”

He swallowed. “I know that, but you must. You do not understand, Cat, and I can . . .”

“I understand that I once asked you to at least respect me enough to tell me the truth and then I hear you pleading with that woman to lie to me!” Her voice broke, and she pushed open the door to her chamber in an attempt to get away from him.

He was bigger and stronger, though, and simply pushed his way in behind her, stopping to close the door behind them as she stalked away from him in anger and frustration. “I do not want you here! I am begging you to go!”

“I can’t,” he told her. “Cat, I was not asking Ashara to lie to you. I have not lied to you.” He sounded desperate, and he knew it.

“You never told me about Ashara Dayne’s baby!” she accused him.

“I never knew about it until today!” he almost shouted.

She looked horrified. “You never bothered to find out? Oh gods, Ned! You sounded so bitter when you spoke of her wedding Stannis! If you loved her so much, why did you wed me? Surely, you could have come up with some other way to win my father’s support!”

She was practically sobbing now, and Ned wanted so much to hold her, but he knew she wouldn’t allow that. “I never loved her,” he insisted, but looking at her face then, he knew how that sounded to her. “I never bedded her, Cat! Never! I am not the father of her babe, whatever you have heard!”

“You were with her at Harrenhal. I’d forgotten. Brandon said he had to ask her to dance with you. You actually wanted to dance with her.” That seemed to anger as much as anything else.

“No, I didn’t want to dance! Brandon just did that. I mean, I liked her, and he knew it so . .we danced, Cat, and I kissed her, but I never . . .”

“Why tell me about it? We weren’t wed or even betrothed then! I was nothing to you!”

“But you are angry about it!”

“I am angry that you wed me without telling me you loved another. That you left her with child to wed me! That you still love her now!”

That was more than he could take. He grabbed her wrists and held her in front of him. “I have already told you I never bedded the woman. I wanted her once, before I’d ever seen your face, but I did not take her. And I certainly never loved her!”

She was staring at him now, and he could see her fighting with herself, wanting to believe him, but not daring to. He swallowed hard and told her more truth. “I . . .I did lie with women before I knew you, Catelyn. But never Ashara Dayne, and never anyone since the day I took you as my wife. I want no one but you, my love! You must believe me!”

She stared at him wide eyed, and he realized he’d never called her that before. “You are my love, Cat. My only love.”

“You’re hurting my wrists.”

“Oh, gods, I’m sorry!” He let her go as quickly as if he’d been burned.

She didn’t run away from him or strike him, though. Instead she sank down to sit on the bed and looked up at him. “Tell me,” she said flatly. “Tell me all of it.”

And so he did. He told her all that occurred between him and Ashara Dayne that long ago night at Harrenhal. He even told her of the kisses she had given him when he’d seen her in Starfall after Lyanna’s death, insisting that they meant nothing, and telling her truthfully that he had stopped it from going further. “I didn’t love you then,” he said honestly, but you were my wife, Catelyn, and I would not betray you even then.”

She nodded and told him to continue.

He told her about his conversations with Jon Arryn, Lord Stannis, and Ashara Dayne. “So that is what you heard, my love. It is Robert I intend to lie to.”

“You would have it believed that you fathered a child on her?” The bitterness in her voice was unmistakable.

“Only by a few,” he said. “And not by you. Never by you. I told Jon and Ashara both that you must know the truth.”

“More than Robert and Stannis will hear this lie and believe it truth, Ned. Even Petyr seemed to know something of it. He was acting so strangely.”

“Petyr,” Ned growled “is a gnat who brought you to Lady Dayne’s rooms in hopes of hurting you tonight.” He believed that wholeheartedly. He didn’t know what the man’s game was, but he had one.

For a moment, he thought she was going to defend Baelish, but then she bit her lip hard. “Those men . . .” she said. “The ones in the corridor. They said that Petyr told them . . .” She looked up at him. “Have you heard anything, my lord, about Petyr and . . .myself? Or Lysa?”

Something clicked then, and Ned swallowed hard, not wanting to admit he’d kept something else from her. Something he’d never had cause to share with her because she had not asked. But now, he wondered if Baelish had been the culprit. He’d been young, but still . . .

“What is it, Ned? There is something you are not telling me.”

“I’ve heard no talk of you, my lady,” he said gently. “And no talk of your sister save what your lord father told us in confidence when Lord Arryn came with me when I asked him for your hand.”

“My father?”

Ned swallowed and sat down beside her, relieved when she did not move away. “Lysa was not a maid when she wed Jon, my love.”

“How dare you say something like that?” she demanded, blue eyes flashing.

He took her hands, gently. “Your father told us only that a boy had seduced her. An unsuitable boy. She had gotten with child, but miscarried. Did you never wonder why your father married your sister to a man so much older?”

“I . . .I thought it strange, but Lord Arryn was a good man, a high lord. Both of us wed to high lords. That was Father’s goal.”

Ned nodded. “It was. But now, your sister was ruined. Jon’s heir had just died in battle, and your father thought . . .”

“My father thought that an old man in need of an heir might not care that his young bride came to his bed no longer a maid,” Catelyn said bitterly. “Poor Lysa. She never said anything.” She looked at Ned carefully. “And you think it could have been Petyr?”

“I don’t know,” Ned said honestly. “I do know she left her chambers to attend the banquet with Baelish without even trying to find out where Jon was. And I know he seems overly . . .concerned . . .with you. He did duel my brother for you.”

She shook her head. “It seems hard to believe . . .but those men . . .” She shuddered, and he moved to put his arms around her. This time she did move away.

“Ned,” she said, looking at him. “Was there a baby? I know it was not yours, but if Ashara Dayne did give birth to a stillborn girl, who was the father? Do you know?”

He’d very carefully left out the details of Ashara’s angry outburst to Stannis Baratheon, allowing her to believe that Stannis had jumped to conclusions even more than he actually did. He had no wish to hurt her. But he had promised her truth.

He swallowed. “I do know, my love. But you have no need of that knowledge. It was not me, regardless of what we allow Robert to think. That is all you need to know.”

“No,” she said. “It isn’t.” She looked at him. “I was betrothed to your brother long enough to hear stories about him,” she said. “And he was at Harrenhal, too.”

“Many men were at Harrenhal,” Ned said.

“Ned,” she said, not willing to be put off.

He nodded. “Yes,” he said simply. “But he never knew, Cat. She never told him. Robert found out about the babe from men who were here when King Aerys sent her back to Dorne when she could no longer hide the fact she was with child.”

“She wasn’t here to be murdered with Elia Martell. Brandon saved her life when he bedded her, didn’t he?”

“I said something very similar when I heard the tale.”

“And now she gets to spend that life chained to Stannis Baratheon. I don’t know if she should thank Brandon or curse him.”

He looked at her carefully, but he heard no particular venom in her voice. Only pity.

She saw him looking at her and smiled at him. “Once it would have hurt me to hear that,” she said. “But no more.” She put a hand on his face. “Had it truly been you . . .I think I might have died inside even if it did all happen before you knew me. As unfair as that is.”

“Had Petyr Baelish actually touched you like those men tried tonight, I would have killed him,” Ned said matter of factly. “I wanted to kill him for bringing you to Lady Ashara’s room and causing you to be hurt.”

“You would have told me all of it? Even had I not heard any of it?”

“I would have told you all of it.”

“I have not been entirely honest with you, my lord,” she said then, hesitantly, and Ned felt a knot form in his throat. He steeled himself for whatever she might have to say. She took a deep breath and asked him, “Do you believe it was for the best that both of us came here?”

He sighed. “Well, we are not out of this yet, my lady, but I believe so, yes. As much as I hate it.”

She nodded. “I delayed telling you something because I feared you would not bring me if you knew it.”

He searched his brain for something she could have done which would have caused him to leave her behind after she’d made such a brilliant case for both of them needing to come to this place. As he thought, she reached out and took his hand, placing it on her belly. “You are to be a father again, my lord,” she said. “My love,” she added shyly, echoing the words he had used for her.

“Gods, Catelyn!” he cried out. “How long have you known?”

“Long enough,” she admitted. “I didn’t tell you at first because I wanted to be sure after . . .” He nodded. He remembered that disappointment as well as she did. “Then I was going to tell you, but Robb was taken, and then I knew we both had to come here, and I feared you would lock me in Winterfell if you knew.”

“I would have,” he said severely. “Is it safe for you to ride home or must we remain here until after the baby is born?”

“Gods, no!” she cried. “I would not have our babe born here for anything. I’m not even four moons gone yet, my love.” She smiled at him. “We’ll be gone from here before anyone knows about the babe, and home in Winterfell before I have to give up all riding, even at the snail’s pace I know you’ll keep us at now,” she said with a smile.

He must have still been frowning because she lifted a hand to his face to smooth the frown lines. “I would not endanger your child, my lord. Truly, I would not.”

He looked at this woman, this beautiful woman, who still did not understand. “Catelyn,” he said. “I know perfectly well you would never do anything to cause harm to our child. It is you, I worry for, my love. I am no fool, and I know that carrying a child brings risks to the mother. That terrifies me. I would lock you up and keep you safe if I thought I could. He reached up and touched that beautiful face and then leaned in to kiss both blue eyes that were gazing at him in such seeming disbelief. “You are everything, Cat,” he said simply. “I love Robb dearly, and I love this new babe already. I would die for our children, my love. You know that. And yet, it kills me to know that you would willingly do the same. Because I cannot be without you.”

They did not go to the banquet.

Much later, as Ned held his exhausted wife close against him while she slept, he absently ran his hand over her belly, realizing it felt firmer and fuller than it had and wondering how he’d missed it before. She’d stoically offered to repair her hairstyle and return with him to the banquet, worried that Robert would take his absence amiss. He’d had no desire to attend a banquet and less desire to see Robert and had instead insisted they remain here in her chambers. Whatever Robert had to say to him could wait until morning. He was exhausted himself, but his mind and heart were both too full to sleep for a very long time.

In the morning, a sharp knock on the door roused them both. “Lord Stark! Lord Stark, are you in there?” came a loud voice.

“Yes, I am here,” Ned responded sleepily. “Stop shouting.”

“His Grace, King Robert Baratheon, invites you to break your fast with him,” came the loud voice from the other side of the door again.

“Bloody hell,” Ned swore under his breath as Catelyn sat up beside him. “Give me a few minutes!”

He looked at his wife. Her hair was an unruly sea of red and she yawned and stretched. Her eyes were still puffy from the tears she’d cried last night, but her blue gaze was quite clear as she she looked at him. “So this is it,” she said. “He will tell you what he thinks he knows.”

“Mmm,” Ned said, surveying the room to see precisely where he’d cast off his clothing the night before. “Either that or he wants to take me to task for missing his banquet last night. I don’t much care either way.” He yawned himself. “It’s awfully early for Robert. Either he drank considerably less than his usual, or Jon’s been at him already and has him propped up.”

“You are prepared to listen to him slander you and make no defense?” she said quietly, not taking her eyes from his.

He thought again of what he was asking her to accept. She would be largely shielded from court gossip in Winterfell, but her sister would hear it, and rumor would likely travel much more easily to her father at Riverrun. She would be unable to defend him to anyone. Not even to her own family. “Cat,” he said, reaching out to touch her impossible hair. “Do you wish me to tell Robert the truth of it? Have I asked too much of you?”

She closed her eyes for a second, whether in thought, prayer, or simple weariness, Ned could not say, but when she opened them again, she regarded him with that steady blue gaze. “This is your choice, my lord. It is your honor you intend to tarnish in exchange for some measure of protection for our children. Not mine. I will abide by your wishes in this.”

Her speech was more formal than he would have liked, and he found himself suddenly needing reassurance that she had truly believed all he’d told her. “Cat,” he said, swallowing hard. “Do you doubt anything I have told you? Tell me true, my lady, if you doubt me now.”

“I do not doubt you, my love,” she answered without hesitation.

He pulled her into her arms and simply held her tightly for a moment. Then he drew back to look at her. “Then I care not what anyone else may think or say of me, my lady. I can do this, Cat. We can do this. We shall tarry here another several days and assure Robert of our good behavior, attending whatever foolish fetes he requires us to attend, and then I shall take you home, my love.”

“I shall be glad to go there, my lord. I miss Robb more than I can begin to say.”

He kissed her forehead. “I know you do. I miss him, too.” He then pulled himself from the safety of her arms and prepared to go and meet his king.

The man outside who had come to fetch him led him to a small room in Maegor’s Holdfast. Seated at the table within were Robert Baratheon and Jon Arryn. Ned was pleased to note that Jon looked considerably more rested than he had when he’d seen him yesterday. Robert, on the other hand, looked hungover and unhappy about it.

“Gods, man,” Robert said as he looked up at Ned, mostly through one eye. “Did you sleep in those clothes?”

“I did not, Your Grace,” Ned said stiffly. “I was summoned from bed to attend you here and I dressed hastily.”

“Not from your bed,” Robert said, yawning. “I was told your rooms were empty.” He looked at Ned expectantly.

Ned sighed. He had not seen Robert since that long ago day in the black cells. Once he would have viewed the man’s post-intoxication moodiness and his rude innuendos through the filter of brotherly affection. Now, when he looked at him, he could only see Robb’s little form crumpled on the ground beneath the dead maid in the woods, and he had to restrain himself from leaping at the man.

“So, where were you, Ned?” Robert persisted.

Ned frowned at him. “I was not aware that my sleeping habits were a concern of the crown. But as you sent the man to my lady wife’s chambers, you must already know he found me there.”

Robert actually laughed and then put his hand to his head as if the sound of his own laughter caused him pain. “Well, I sent a man to Lady Dayne’s chambers as well. Couldn’t be sure where I might find you, now could I?”

Ned’s fists clenched at his side as he fought the urge to put one of them through Robert’s face. _Catelyn is with child_ , he reminded himself. _Do nothing that will put her at risk. Her safety and that of my children is more valuable than my pride._ He clenched his jaw as tightly as his fist and made no response.

“Oh, stop standing there glowering at me,” Robert said then. “You look as grim as my brother.” He stuffed a pastry of some sort into his mouth. “Sit down, Ned,” he said with his mouth full, motioning Ned toward a seat.

Ned devoutly wished people would stop saying that to him, but he moved stiffly to take the indicated chair without speaking. He looked at Jon Arryn who remained silent.

“Jon tells me he spoke to you yesterday,” Robert said after he’d finished chewing. “Then neither of you deigned to attend the banquet. Jon claims to have been taken ill, and at least his lady wife stayed for dinner and dancing. Your pretty redhead disappeared halfway through the meal, Ned.”

“She came to find me,” Ned said tersely.

“And did she find you?” Robert asked.

“She did.” Ned looked at Robert levelly. “Or rather I found her, fortunately. She was most cruelly accosted in the corridors of your Keep, Your Grace, by two villains who would appear to have been guests of yours.”

Robert looked honestly shocked at that, and Jon Arryn actually gasped. “Is Lady Catelyn all right?” the older man asked.

“She took no lasting hurt,” Ned said. “I fear that would not have been the case had I not been there. In any event, she no longer felt like dancing.”

“I’ll have them punished, Ned,” Robert said. “No man may lay unwanted hands on a lady under my roof.”

Robert seemed sincere, and Ned chose not to point out the hypocrisy of his statement. Through the years, he’d seen Robert put his hands on any number of women who did not welcome his touch. To be fair, though, he’d never known him to actually force himself upon one. “I do not know their names, Your Grace,” he told his one time friend. “They should be easy enough to identify, though, as both of their noses are rather badly broken.”

Robert guffawed at that. “It would seem they’ve been punished already, then. Good old Ned! Stoic as a statue until someone insults the honor of a lady!”

“She is my wife, Robert,” he said quietly. “I will protect her always. I will protect all that are mine.” He couldn’t keep the implied threat completely out of his voice, and Robert’s narrowed eyes told him that the king hadn’t missed it.

“Is that so?” he asked. “How is it then you gave no protection to your firstborn child? Leaving its mother to bear her shame and her babe alone does not seem like you, Ned. Especially given the lengths you’ve gone to for your sister’s bastard.”

Ned breathed deeply, willing himself to remain calm. “I take it you speak of Lady Ashara?” he said carefully. “I tell you truly, Robert. I had no knowledge she had ever borne a child until Jon told me of it yesterday.”

Those words were true enough. Ned thought perhaps that if he could avoid actually speaking an outright lie, he might succeed in doing this.

“Truly? She never told you?” Robert narrowed his eyes at him even more.

“Never.” Ned swallowed. “I made no promises to Lady Ashara at Harrenhal. Nor she to me. I did not see her again until I took her Ser Arthur’s sword.”

“After you failed to kill him,” Robert said pointedly.

“Yes,” Ned sighed. “It was to be as if he were dead. I did not expect the man to do what he did.”

“Poor Ned.” Robert shook his head. “Always expecting people to do precisely what they say. I once trusted you to that extent, but never anyone else. And, of course, even you played me false in the end.”

_No, Robert. I would never have betrayed you. You are the one who tried to take my son._

“Does your lady wife know about Ashara’s babe?” Robert asked suddenly.

“I believe Petyr Baelish told her Lady Ashara had given birth to a child who died,” Ned said carefully. That was true.

“Ah.” Robert looked at Jon Arryn. “Mayhaps we need to muzzle that boy of yours,” he said sharply. “He is a useful young man, but he has a habit of speaking out of turn.” Looking back to Ned, he asked, “And what does the Lady Catelyn know of your part in it?”

 _That I have no part in it._ “If you are asking me if I have confessed to my lady wife that I have fathered any bastards, living or dead, the answer is no.”

Jon Arryn met his eyes then, realizing by the phrasing of the response that he intended to allow Robert’s assumption to go unchallenged. Jon nodded slightly in approval.

“She is a very dutiful lady, is she not?” Robert asked then in a slightly mocking tone. “A true Tully, I’ve heard--very big on family and honor and all that sort of thing.”

“She is,” Ned said through gritted teeth. Catelyn’s family’s words sounded hollow and meaningless from Robert’s lips, and he once again had to suppress the urge to throttle the man. Ned had come to value those words as a reflection of the woman he loved and respected beyond anyone else, and he found himself wondering if this man he had once loved as a brother truly understood the importance of any one of the three.

“It would be a shame for her to learn how her honorable lord husband has failed on all three. And should all the kingdom hear the sordid tale . . .I cannot imagine how terrible that would be for her.” Ned noticed that Robert at least had difficulty meeting his eyes as he spoke the words.

“I would not have my lady wife shamed, Your Grace,” he sighed. “Nor would I have Lady Ashara suffer more than she already has.” _Or will. Married to a man who judges her harshly._ “What would you have me do, Robert? I cannot change the past, and I will not give up Lyanna’s son.” He looked directly at Robert then and did not continue until the deep blue Baratheon eyes once more met his own. “Nor will I tolerate any threat to my own son,” he said slowly and clearly. “Rest assured, I will kill any man who harms him or any child of mine.”

Ned did not think he imagined the brief, guilty look that passed across Robert’s face. The two men stared at each other in silence for what seemed a very long time. Finally, Jon Arryn cleared his throat, and Robert looked at the older man. Some silent communication seemed to pass between them, and then Robert looked back to Ned.

“Keep the damned bastard hidden away then. It would appear Dayne and his pitiful supporters have had no better luck finding him than I have. But Ned, if I ever hear of that boy being held up as the rightful king by you or anyone sworn to you, I will destroy your name. I will see to it that nothing you say can be easily believed. I don’t want to do it. I actually believe you, you know. I think the stupid woman did keep your little bastard a secret even from you. You’d never have wed the Tully girl otherwise. Mayhaps, I should buy Lady Ashara a gift for that because I needed Hoster Tully.” He paused. “But as much as it will pain me, I will make certain no one else believes you. I can do it, Ned.” He swallowed. “And when I do it, Ashara Dayne’s life with that self-righteous, unforgiving brother of mine will become a nightmare indeed. You know that. And I don’t think you want that.”

“Of course I don’t.” The two of them regarded each other silently once more, and then Ned stood up. “I have told you from the very beginning that Lyanna’s child is no threat to you. He is hidden only because you are a threat to him. You have nothing to fear from me on that count, Robert. You never did. So you will never have to make good on your threats to me.”

“You give me your word?”

“Why do you want it? I gave you my word when you had me locked up, Robert. I swore on my honor as a Stark. My word wasn’t good enough for you then.”

“It is now,” Robert said.

“Only because you have something to hold over me.” Ned’s voice was cold.

Robert leapt to his feet then, pounding the table with his fists. “Because I want this to be done between us!” he shouted. “Damn it, Ned! You were my brother! The only true brother I ever had!”

Ned could hear actual pain behind the anger in Robert’s words, but it did not move him. Not now. He remained silent for a brief moment before saying. “You have my word. Now, if you would excuse me, Your Grace, I seem to have lost my appetite. With your leave, I would very much like to return to my lady wife now.”

Robert dropped his head. “Go,” he said, all the fury seemingly drained from him. “Just go, Ned.”

Ned bowed and then turned and strode from the room, passing Ser Barristan Selmy outside the door. He hadn’t gone far down the corridor when he heard footsteps hurrying after him. He looked back to see Jon Arryn coming toward him.

“I cannot do any more, Jon,” he said, when the older man reached him. “I will live with this lie in order to preserve the peace, but do not ask any more of me.”

“He is trying, Ned,” Jon said. “He hates himself for what he said to you in there, you know.”

Ned’s eyes glanced back to the doorway still guarded by Ser Barristan. “He should.”

He then turned to walk away, but Jon fell in step beside him. “Things will be better for everyone now,” Jon assured him.

“For me, certainly,” Ned said. “If Robert holds to what he says and no longer sends men after my nephew or my family. For Robert as well, if he spends more time ruling the kingdoms than fearing I want to steal them. For Lady Ashara? I do not think so.”

Jon shook his head sadly. “You are not to blame for her position, Ned. Whoever put the babe in her belly without benefit of marriage did that. I will endeavor to look out for her as much as I can. I promise you. I’ll see to it that Robert makes it clear to Stannis she is not to be mistreated.”

“Stannis won’t mistreat her,” Ned said bluntly. “He is not cruel. But he will never forgive her, either. Even though whatever wrong she may have done was never against him.”

Jon didn’t respond to that. He knew the truth of Stannis’s nature as well as Ned did. Instead, he said, “I will see to it that Baelish speaks no more about this matter to your lady wife.”

Ned stopped then. “I have told Catelyn the entire truth of the matter, just as I said I would, Jon. But as for Baelish, if you truly value his financial knowledge, you should keep him away from my wife entirely.”

Jon’s eyes widened. “I thought they were friends.”

“So did she, but it seems he is no friend to either of our lady wives, my lord. The two men who treated my Lady Catelyn so shamefully felt entitled to do so because of slanderous words from Petyr Baelish about the daughters of Hoster Tully.”

“But why would he . . .”

“I do not know. I only know that if I hear even one more hint of any foul, lying words about my lady coming from that man’s tongue, he will no longer have a tongue.”

Jon looked at him, and once more Ned had the impression that he was aging before his eyes, even though he still looked far better than yesterday. “He speaks such things of Lysa as well?”

Ned nodded, and saw the grim realization in his foster father’s eyes. While Ned knew with absolute certainty that Catelyn had come to the marriage bed a maiden, Jon knew well enough that Lysa had not. Now, Jon obviously wondered the same thing about Baelish that Ned had since last night. Neither of them would speak of that.

“Make use of him if he has his uses,” Ned said, putting a hand on the older man’s shoulder. “But never trust him. And don’t allow him to close to Lady Arryn or yourself.”

Jon nodded silently, and Ned returned to his lady wife’s chambers, eager to put everything of this morning behind him.

They remained in King’s Landing another week, attending first a small reception for only the most notable lords and ladies at which the king and queen displayed their infant son. Ned had a vague impression of a pale, pink round little face topped with golden fuzz which matched the color of the queen’s. He thought that Robert’s bastard daughter in the Vale had seemed a livelier, more robust babe with her full head of black hair and deep blue eyes like Robert’s.

The Lannister woman held the boy tightly against her the entire time, seeming loath to let anyone touch him, even his father. Of course, Robert appeared to have little interest in his son in any event, preferring to drink and laugh with his guests.

Catelyn sparkled, of course, a model of courtesy and dignity, and to Ned’s eyes far more beautiful than any of the other women there, including the golden queen. Her eyes got a sad faraway look whenever they settled on the queen holding her babe, and he knew his wife’s arms ached to hold their own son.

Then there were two more formal banquets with far too much dancing for Ned’s taste. Catelyn would not have lacked for partners even had he chosen not to dance at all, but he could only watch his wife being twirled around in the arms of other men for so long before asserting his claim on her himself, so he danced more than he could ever remember doing in his life. He was as dreadful at it as she was accomplished, and yet she seemed more than content to remain in his arms and suffer his missteps, courteously turning down all other offers as long as he remained on the floor with her.

Baelish was at both banquets. Jon must have said something to him, though, for he kept far away from Catelyn and Ned both. In fact, Ned barely saw him at all at the first. At the second, the first time Ned saw him, Lysa Arryn was on his arm, laughing too loudly at something he’d said. Jon arrived to lead her away from him within moments, and Ned recognized the suppressed fury in her blue eyes because the expression was similar enough to one he’d learned meant trouble for someone when it appeared on his wife’s face. Later in the evening, he’d caught the little man staring across the room at Catelyn with a look of such naked hunger on his face that he’d walked toward him without realizing it until Baelish looked up and saw him. The fear in the man’s eyes just before he turned and fled the ballroom was gratifying. Not as gratifying as beating him to a pulp would have been, mayhaps, but Ned decided pursuing the little prick out of the banquet was not worth the potential problems it could cause him.

Robert tried on several occasions to speak with Ned, usually after drinking rather heavily. He seemed forever on the verge of an apology he could not quite make, and Ned was not sure he wanted to hear one anyway. He was forever courteous and deferential to the king in public, but did not suffer his company for any extended periods of time in private.

He spent nearly all of the time not claimed by mandatory social functions in Catelyn’s chambers. He had moved all of his things there, not actually giving a damn what anyone thought about it at this point. Neither of them had any desire to seek out other people except when necessary, and in spite of missing Robb and Winterfell dreadfully, he was enjoying the time alone with her. While he still felt guilty about dragging her into more lies and secrecy because of him, he thrilled at the subtle change in the feeling between them--this new acknowledgement that something existed between them that went far beyond duty and respect. He dared not question her about it or even speak of it in too many words lest he cause it to somehow disappear, but he knew her well enough to see the same new joy in her eyes when their eyes met.

He couldn’t stop staring at her now, particularly when she was naked before him. His eyes searched out every tiny change in her body that he had somehow missed until now, and he reveled in the miracle of this new child they had made. He had missed all of this with Robb, and he vowed he would not leave her side until this babe came safely into the world for he wished to miss nothing.

The only truly terrible moment came the day before they departed King’s Landing. Catelyn had been torn about what to say to her sister about Petyr Baelish. She didn’t feel she could tell her that she knew of her stolen maidenhood. She believed that had Lysa wished her to know about it, she would have told her. Yet, she couldn’t bear to leave her sister in King’s Landing with no warning about the man at all. Finally, on their last full day, she warned Lysa that Baelish had been caught telling terrible lies about both of them, and that he wasn’t to be trusted. She returned to Ned in her chambers in tears.

“What is it, my love?” he asked, pulling her into his arms.

“Oh, Ned, it was awful! My sister hates me!” she sobbed.

He only held her then until she settled down because he didn’t know what to say to that. Once she had calmed, he led her to sit beside him on the bed. “Now, tell me, Cat.”

“I told her of Petyr’s lies, just as I planned. I told her what happened to me, about those men and what they said . . .” She sniffed and looked up at him. “And she looked at me as if I were a monster, Ned. She screamed at me. She said that it was all my fault then. It was my fault that Jon is keeping Petyr away from her. That I was only jealous because Petyr loved her best and always had. That I was jealous because she has Petyr while I only have a man who doesn’t even want me and got another woman with child.” Her voice broke on the last, and Ned pulled her to him once more.

“I am sorry, my love. I am so sorry.”

“It isn’t your fault,” she said quietly. But he felt like it was. He felt responsible for all of her pain.

“Lysa will come around,” he said. “Jon will make certain . . .”

“She told me she hates Jon,” Catelyn said desolately. “I don’t know what to do, Ned. I don’t know how to help her when she won’t listen.”

Ned thought of his own sister, of how often he’d wished he could have spoken to her before she’d left with Rhaegar Targaryen. He wondered now if she would have listened to him any more than Lysa Arryn would listen to Cat, as he would have told her things she didn’t want to hear. “You can’t, Cat,” he said softly. “You cannot make her see if she refuses to open her eyes. But whether she hates him or not, Jon is her husband, and he will keep her safe. He knows not to trust Baelish.”

She nodded and looked up at him. “I want to go home, Ned. I want our son. I cannot stand this place any longer.”

“We have been here long enough,” he agreed. “Let’s go home, my love.”

They rode out with all their men the following day. Robert came to bid them farewell and seemed genuinely sorry to see them go. “It will be well between us, Ned. I trust you will govern the North well, Lord Stark,” he said.

Ned looked at him, wondering if anything could ever truly be well between them after all that had occurred, but he only said, “I will serve you to the best of my ability, Your Grace.”

Jon had embraced him and kissed Catelyn’s hand, wishing them both a safe journey. He had looked pained, though. Lysa had not come at all, and Catelyn had bit her lip and held back her tears.

However stressful the farewells had been, however, neither he nor Catelyn looked back as they rode out of King’s Landing. They faced forward, both eager to ride north to Robb, to Winterfell, to home.


	12. Catelyn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This begins the third and final part of the story, taking place more than 2 years after Ned and Catelyn return to Winterfell from King's Landing.

“There, there, sweetling. Don’t cry. See? It’s not broken. Mother put it back together for you.” Catelyn Stark handed the horse back to her two year old daughter. Sansa had discovered it lying on the floor of the nursery with one of its wheels and the pull string removed, and tears had ensued. Catelyn had no doubt that Robb had been the culprit. Her five year old son had recently taken quite an interest in dismantling everything he could get his hands on, and he was suspiciously absent from the nursery at present.

Sansa set the little horse on the floor and pulled on the string, laughing out loud when it rolled toward her. She proceeded to toddle around the nursery with the toy following her like a well trained pet, babbling to it as she went. Catelyn smiled at the care she took with the toy, thinking how different she was from her brother. The horse had originally belonged to Robb, but when he was two he’d always pulled the string so hard that the little horse would topple over instead of rolling after him, and he’d soon throw it across the room in frustration.

Still smiling, she rose slowly and carefully from the floor, rubbing her lower back to ease the ache that often plagued her now when she’d played too long on the floor with the children. In truth, it was the rising up from the floor that was the worst part, her swollen belly making balance difficult and grace impossible. She was more than six moons gone now, and this babe was rarely still. She laid a hand on her belly as she walked to the window, her eye caught by a flash of dark outside.

The raven circled the towers near the Hunter’s Gate as it descended, and Catelyn lost sight of it. She frowned. That was the second one this morning. Of course, there had been entirely too many ravens of late. _Dark wings, dark words,_ she thought. She turned back to watch her little daughter at play, but the joy of a moment before had left her. Surely, these new birds brought more tidings of the Ironborn. Rumors abounded that Balon Greyjoy had declared himself a king, and that even now he prepared to make war on Robert Baratheon and the rest of the Seven Kingdoms.

 _War._ She’d lived through one war already and had no desire to see another, but of course, it wouldn’t be her choice to make. If Balon truly called himself king, then Robert Baratheon could not let it stand. And if he called her husband to war, Ned would go. Her father would go, too. Lord Hoster had already sent Ned word of the fortifications he had ordered Lord Mallister to make at Seagard. She shivered, knowing that if the Iron Islanders indeed attacked, her father’s bannermen and the lords in the west would be the first forced into battle.

 _Just over two years_ , she thought. They’d had just over two years of relative peace and contentment. Since their visit to King’s Landing, Robert had stopped sending the letters making demands he knew Ned would refuse. No suspicious strangers had appeared at Winterfell from the south. She and Ned had been largely left alone, and she’d been foolish enough to hope that the rest of the world would continue to care for itself without involving them. She should have known better.

The sound of running feet accompanied by a loud whoop drew her away from her thoughts. She walked to the doorway to see her son bolting down the corridor and stepped out to stop him. He couldn’t quite stop in time and crashed into her. She put her arms around him to keep him from falling and then looked down into his face, awaiting some explanation.

“I’m sorry, Mother,” the boy said contritely. “I’m sorry Baby Stark,” he said just as seriously to her midsection, and Catelyn bit her lip to keep from smiling. “I didn’t see you,” he explained.

“Why were you running in the first place, young Robb?” she asked him, trying to sound severe.

“So Septa doesn’t catch me,” he answered without thinking, and she watched his face turn crimson as he realized he probably should not have been quite so honest with her.

“And why would Septa Mordane be trying to catch you?” she asked, now struggling more than ever to keep from smiling at him.

“I don’t know,” he said promptly, which was his standard answer any time he believed the truth would not serve him well.

“Robb,” she said warningly. “Are you being honest with me?”

He looked up at her silently. He was a generally truthful child and would often choose silence over an outright lie. She thought he likely got that trait from his father. “Robb,” she said again. “Septa cannot run like you can, but she will get here eventually. I can keep you here until she arrives. Now, would you like to tell me why she would chase you or shall I ask her in a few moments?”

The little boy hung his head. “She caught me in the kitchens eating one of the pies that was cooling.” When she didn’t respond, he added, “I was hungry! And I like peach pie.” He pouted. “Only she said it was stealing. And I told her it wasn’t stealing because the cooks make the pies for us in the first place, and if I didn’t eat it now I’d eat it at dinner, and so that’s not stealing!”

“Perhaps not,” came a deep voice from the end of the corridor. “But are you allowed to sneak food without asking?”

Robb straightened up as tall as he could at the sound of Ned’s voice and turned to look at his father. “No, my lord. I am not allowed.”

“So Septa Mordane was right to stop you, was she not?”

“Yes, but . . .but she shouldn’t have called it stealing. I’m not a thief, Father!”

“No, you are not a thief, but you were wrong. Come here, Robb.”

Catelyn smiled as she watched her husband drop to a knee to be more of a height with their little boy.

When Robb reached him, Ned put an arm around him. “Son, Septa only wanted you to acknowledge you had done something wrong. Did you do that?” Robb shook his head. “Did you shout at her instead?” Meekly, the boy nodded. “Is it courteous to shout at a lady, Robb?” When Robb didn’t answer, Ned pressed him. “Do you hear me shout at your lady mother?”

“Mother doesn’t call you a thief, Father.” Robb said earnestly.

“No,” Ned admitted. “That is one thing she has not called me.”

“Ned!” Catelyn said, shaking her head.

She could see the amusement in the grey eyes when he looked up at her. “The point, Robb, is that I would have had no objection to your explaining courteously to Septa Mordane that you do not believe you are a thief. AFTER you had apologized for sneaking into the kitchens and eating a pie that was meant for dinner. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Father.”

“So what shall you do now?”

Robb sighed. “I shall go and apologize to Septa Mordane for being disrespectful.”

“And?”

“I’ll apologize to the cook for eating the pie.”

“Very good. After you have done those things, I want you to go to your chamber until I come for you.”

“Yes, Father,” the little boy said gravely. Without any further hesitation, he walked toward the stairs.

After she’d watched him go, Catelyn turned to see Ned still on his knees in the corridor. His own head was down now, and she felt her heart drop. “What is it, my love?” she asked breathlessly.

“I’m calling the banners, Cat,” he said softly. “Robert has ordered me to war. The Greyjoy fleet has sailed and attacks are expected any time now on the western coast.”

Her hand went to her mouth. “Oh, Ned.” He stood then and came to take her hands.

“Your father and Tywin Lannister are to lead the coastal defense. I am to gather my men for an assault on Pyke itself.”

“Pyke is an island,” she said stupidly.

“And I haven’t any ships, I know. Tywin Lannister does though. So does Paxter Redwyne. Lord Stannis, as master of ships, is to lead those fleets to engage the Ironborn fleet. If their ships are kept busy elsewhere, Pyke will be less well defended for our assault, and we’ll be able to make the crossing more easily.”

“You make it sound simple,” she said.

“It isn’t,” he acknowledged.

“Papa!” Little Sansa emerged from the nursery pulling her little horse behind her, and Ned bent to lift her into his arms.

“Hello, my little lady,” he said, his voice instantly warm as he spoke to their daughter.

Catelyn smiled in spite of her worries. Ned had a way of speaking to each of their children that was for them alone. She often liked to imagine just how he would sound when he spoke to this new babe. Her smile faded then, even as she watched Sansa giggle as Ned twirled one of her little red curls on his finger. He likely would not even be here when this babe arrived now, and that thought upset her more than she wanted him to know.

She’d been without him the entire time she’d carried Robb, of course, but she hadn’t loved him then. And she had known nothing different. With Sansa he’d been with her nearly all the time. He’d not even made any visits anywhere in the North that would take him away more than two or three days at a time. He’d lain beside her in her bed for hours simply moving his large hands around on her belly encouraging Sansa to move within it and smiling his biggest, most beautiful smiles whenever she did. They’d learned to make love in new ways as her growing belly made old ways too awkward and difficult. She remembered her profound embarrassment when Ned confessed he had actually gone to Maester Luwin to be certain that continuing to bed her wouldn’t be harmful to the child, and her immense relief when he told her the maester had assured him that Catelyn was perfectly healthy and there was no reason for them not to share a bed right up until the babe was born.

Then Sansa was born, and Catelyn had at first been horrified when she realized Ned intended to stay in her room with her. She’d worried he’d be ashamed of her when she cried out, and she knew that she would. She remembered well enough what it had felt like with Robb. She’d worried he’d find her ugly and weak all manner of terrible things, but he’d held her as she labored, wiping her forehead with a cloth and kissing her when she cried out. She’d grabbed his hands, probably drawing blood with her nails, but he’d held her tightly and whispered that he was proud of her and that she was beautiful. When Sansa at last made her way into the world, red haired, red faced and crying, he had shown not a moment’s disappointment in her sex. His face had lit up in a way she had never seen before, and as exhausted as she was, she felt she could fly just by looking at it.

“Cat? What are you thinking, my lady?”

She was startled to see both her husband and daughter staring at her, identical questioning expressions on their completely different faces as he held the little girl in his arms.

She smiled at the two of them. “I was remembering when she was born,” she said softly, tears coming to her eyes in spite of her smile.

He understood at once, of course. “Cat,” he said, coming to her. He held Sansa in one arm and laid his other hand on her belly. “I do not want to leave you, my love. I never do. And especially not now.”

She could see the pain in the grey eyes that she loved so much as he contemplated missing the birth of his third child, and she reached up to touch his face. “I know, my lord,” she replied. Then they stood there together, simply touching because there was really nothing else to say.

Finally, Sansa squealed, “Horsie!” and struggled to get down. Ned lowered her to the ground, and she ran to grab her abandoned toy.

Ned turned to put both hands on Catelyn’s face, and he kissed her gently. “I should go speak with Robb.”

“Septa Mordane can sometimes be a bit too severe, my love. I’ve been on the receiving end of her reprimands at Riverrun, you know,” she told him.

“I don’t doubt that for a moment,” he said, with laughter in his voice. “Don’t worry, Cat. I’ll not whip the boy. I only want him to understand that his actions and his treatment of others matter. He will be the Lord of Winterfell one day, and I would have him deserve the respect that comes with that title.”

Catelyn smiled a little. “He’s only five years old, Ned.”

“I know,” he said softly, his grey eyes solemn. “But I am here now.”

He squeezed her hand then and went to find Robb, leaving unsaid what they both knew to be true. He was here now and could not promise he would be here again once he left for this war.

Over the next fortnight, the castle and its surroundings began to fill up as the men of the North rode to answer their lord’s call. Catelyn knew that many of these men cared little about Robert Baratheon and his throne, but they would follow the Stark in Winterfell wherever he led them. In truth, most had been already prepared to march because Ned, knowing it would come to this eventually, had ordered his bannermen to be prepared even before Robert’s official call to war. Now, as loath as he was to go, she knew he was also eager to be off because simply waiting was almost unbearable. Likely, he would march as soon as he had sufficient numbers from the nearer castles and keeps, leaving word for the men coming from further away to follow after.

Catelyn had been seated in Ned’s solar for some time, reviewing notes she had made for herself the previous day as her husband discussed with her all manner of issues he thought might come up during his absence. He was trusting her to rule Winterfell and all the North while he was gone, and the thought terrified her. She’d taken charge of things before during his visits to faraway keeps, but this was different. This was war, and none could say when the men would return or which men would never return at all.

It was also the first time she would be left to rule without Benjen at her side in Ned’s absence, and she missed her goodbrother desperately. But Ben had never wavered in his desire to join the Night’s Watch. He had remained at Winterfell as long as Ned had need of him, but as his sixteenth and then his seventeenth name days passed, and all seemed well for the Starks and the North, he’d begun to chafe in earnest at remaining in the castle. He had no interest in any match Ned tried to propose for him and declared that he was not made to live out his days as the master of a keep somewhere. Long generations of Starks had served the Night’s Watch, and he wanted to follow in their steps. So, just prior to his eighteenth name day, Ned had relented and allowed him to go. He’d been gone many moons now, and Catelyn still caught herself expecting to see him in his seat at meals or tossing Robb into the air in the courtyard. She knew that Ned missed him just as badly.

Her mind now completely distracted from the task at hand, she rose from the desk and walked to the window. It was a clear spring day, still cold of course, for this was the North, but the weather was often fair now in between the suddenly violent spring storms. Ned had told her he thought summer might arrive in truth within a year. Down in the courtyard, she saw her husband walking with Maester Luwin and two other men toward the Great Keep. She could tell by his stride that he was not happy, and as they came closer, she could see even at this distance the grim, almost pained expression on his face. He carried a roll of parchment. _Dark wings, dark words._

Likely, the men would come here to discuss whatever the letter contained, so she sat down to wait. Ned could send her away if he wished, but he knew she had come here and would not be surprised to find her. As much as she dreaded what news might have come, she hoped he intended to share it with her now. Waiting was even worse than knowing.

She remembered well when he’d come to her just over a year ago with a face as grim and pained as she’d ever seen on him. She’d been sitting right here writing out an order for items the castle needed from White Harbor when he’d appeared in the doorway, pale as death with his grey eyes troubled.

“My love?” she’d asked, concerned for him.

“There’s been a raven. Two of them actually,” he’d said in a flat sort of voice. “Arthur Dayne is dead.”

“Dead?” Catelyn had breathed, standing up and going to him. He’d stood stiffly, not responding to her even when she’d laid her hands on his arms. She knew he had no particular affection for Ser Arthur and had even lamented not killing him at the Tower of Joy any number of times. Yet, for everyone touched by the events of that time and place, her husband tended to hold himself responsible for any misfortune that had befallen them since, regardless of her attempts to absolve him. “How did he die?” she had asked softly.

“A fever,” he’d said dully. “The finest knight I ever fought felled by a fever in some godsforsaken place in Dorne.” He’d shaken his head slowly and walked away from her to sit at the desk. “I don’t know what to feel, Cat,” he’d said as he sank down into the chair.

She’d bit her lip and gone to stand behind him, placing her hands on his shoulders. “You needn’t feel anything, my lord. The man was your foe in war. You fought him honorably and showed him mercy. What he has done with his life since that time is nothing to do with you.”

“He went to his grave believing I am preventing the rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms from gaining his throne.”

“Do you believe that?”

“No. The Rebellion ended Targaryen rule. Robert is the rightful king, and his heirs after him. Jon Snow’s parentage matters not to that.”

“Then what troubles you?”

He’d sighed deeply and turned to face her. “What if I am wrong?” he’d said simply.

“You are not,” she’d said firmly. She’d moved to the front of his chair and run her fingers through his hair. “Ned, we can never know anything with total certainty. We must still make decisions and then live with them. You have taught me that, my lord. Do not doubt yourself now.”

He’d nodded wearily and pulled her down to sit in his lap, wrapping his arms around her.

“Who sent the raven?” she’d asked after a moment.

“The first was from King’s Landing. Robert is overjoyed, of course, although he felt it necessary to repeat his admonishments about keeping my nephew far away from any remaining Targaryen loyalists,” Ned had said darkly.

“What? He still considers the boy a threat even without Ser Arthur around to proclaim his legitimacy? You’ve always maintained that the child is a bastard with no claim. What will ever satisfy the man?”

He’d played with her hair silently for a moment as he often did when he sought to soothe himself. She’d sometimes tease him that she could cut off a length of it for him to keep with him and he’d have no further need of her at all, and he’d laugh and kiss her soundly to prove he had need of all of her. This had been no time for teasing, though, and she’d simply sat silently awaiting his reply.

“I don’t know that Robert will ever be satisfied,” he’d finally said. “He is a man of great appetites, and I fear that causes him to believe that other men will be just as voracious in their own desires. It is hard to trust anyone when you believe that no man is truly content with his lot.”

“He is a fool,” she’d said, leaning forward to put her forehead against his.

“Mayhaps. But a fool with a crown.”

“And the second letter? Who sent it?” she’d asked.

He’d sighed again and held her away from him far enough to look her in the eyes. “Lady Baratheon,” he’d said.

She’d tried not to react to the name. She knew her husband had never bedded Ashara Dayne, now Baratheon. Catelyn, unlike anyone else save Ned and the lady herself, knew who’d actually fathered the woman’s stillborn bastard daughter. Somehow, that didn’t make the whispered comments and crude japes that sometimes even managed to be heard this far North any easier to take. She knew all the reasons for letting the lie stand and that ever trying to go back on it now would ring false anyway. None of that meant she liked it.

“What does Lady Ashara have to say?” As far as she knew the woman had never written to Ned before. She’d been wedded to Lord Stannis within three moons of Catelyn’s and Ned’s departure from King’s Landing and the newly married couple had departed for Dragonstone, although Stannis spent much of his time in King’s Landing as his brother’s master of ships.

“Prince Oberyn wrote to tell her of her brother’s death. He told her that Ser Arthur had never wavered in his duty as a member of the Kingsguard, and that he faithfully served the memory of Prince Rhaegar until his death.”

“Why did she feel you needed to know Prince Oberyn’s words?”

“She wanted me to know his other words,” he’d told her. “Oberyn praised Arthur on the one hand, but then lamented that his stubborn devotion to that wolf bitch’s spawn had actually done more harm than good as there were legitimate, fully Targaryen heirs alive and well somewhere in Essos. Mayhaps, with Arthur gone, support could be consolidated behind young Viserys, and the bastard progeny of Rhaegar’s madness could be left to rot in the North.” She had heard the bitterness in his voice at the characterization of his sister and nephew.

“Oh, my love,” she’d said, wanting to take hurt from him somehow.

“I know well enough how Lyanna is viewed in Dorne, my lady,” he’d said coldly, and she’d reminded herself that his coldness was not toward her. “Ashara only shared Prince Oberyn’s words with me to let me know that, with Arthur gone, no one in the south is likely to come seeking Jon as their true king. And that, at least, is a blessing.”

Catelyn disliked his using Lady Baratheon’s given name without the formal title. It bothered her more than she cared to admit that he seemed to hold her in such high regard. The woman had bedded Brandon knowing him to be betrothed to Catelyn at the time and likely would have bedded Ned at Starfall had he been willing, even knowing he was wed to Catelyn then. She could not muster any great amount of regard for Ashara Dayne Baratheon.

“Will you bring the boy to Winterfell then?” she’d asked. She wasn’t certain how she felt about that, either.

He’d shaken his head, though. “No. Robert still obviously sees the boy as a threat. To bring him to Winterfell so soon after Ser Arthur’s death . . .No. I am afraid he must remain where he is for now.”

“And Lady Baratheon? Will she persist in the story she told in King’s Landing--now that she has no brother to protect?”

He’d sighed wearily. “She cannot change her tale now. It would benefit her nothing. She did birth a bastard, whoever fathered it. Lord Stannis isn’t likely to think better of her for having lain with a different man, even if he did believe her. And she would not willingly act to harm me or mine.”

She’d not responded to that. She hadn’t known what she was supposed to say about her family’s safety depending in part upon another woman’s affection for her husband. Ned had not found anything else to say either, and they’d simply sat together here in the solar for some time.

She was pulled back into the present by the opening of the solar door and the entrance of Ned and Maester Luwin. The other two men were no longer with them.

“My lord,” she said. “There’s been a letter?”

His eyes were dark as a winter storm as he laid the parchment on the table. “Victarion Greyjoy has attacked Lannisport,” he said without preamble. “The entire Lannister fleet has been destroyed.”

“Oh, Ned,” she breathed.

“There is more, my love,” he said, softening his voice slightly. “The Ironborn now raid all along the coast and word has come of a massive attack launched at Seagard.”

“Seagard?” she’d said, fear gripping her. “My father . . .”

“There is no word that any harm has come to Lord Hoster,” he assured her. “And you know your lord father has been planning a defense against an assault on Seagard for some time. Lord Jason Mallister is a formidable soldier, and he will be prepared for this, my lady.”

She nodded. “When shall you leave?” She knew well enough that these tidings meant Ned must go soon.

“On the morrow,” he said. “I’ve sent Galbart Glover and Helman Tallhart to tell all the lords and masters here to prepare their men to march. Ser Rodrik will remain here with you, of course, and I’ll give him instructions for the Boltons, Umbers, and Karstarks when they arrive.”

“Are you going to Seagard?”

“Aye. With luck, your father’s men will have flung the Ironborn back into the sea by the time we reach there. Then, if Stannis Baratheon and Paxter Redwine can handle the reavers’ ships even after the loss of the Lannister fleet, we shall be able to make the crossing to Pyke.”

“It would seem you are asking for a great deal of luck, my lord.”

He walked around the desk to her then, and she rose to stand. Conscious of Maester Luwin standing just inside the doorway, he only put his hands on her arms, but he looked at her intently. “It is still a good plan, my love. And we have good men to carry it out.”

She nodded, willing herself not to cry. He surprised her by bending and pressing a brief kiss to her forehead then in spite of the maester’s presence. “I have a number of things I need to speak with Maester Luwin about, Cat. You are welcome to stay, but you needn’t if there are other things you need to do. I have told you all the important news.”

She nodded once more. “I’ve spent little time with the children today. Robb has likely driven both Etta and Septa Mordane to distraction by now,” she told him, trying bravely to smile. “I will see you at the evening meal?”

“You will,” he assured her, and she left him there to see to their children.

She spent the rest of the day in a bit of a haze. Winterfell was filled with all manner of activity, and the organized chaos of an army about to march permeated everything. She played briefly with the children, and then found herself called to first one part of the castle and then another answering questions and overseeing various functions as the supplies for the march were finalized and loaded. They had been preparing all along, so everything went relatively smoothly, and she found herself seated beside Ned in the Great Hall before she knew it.

There was an excited, almost festive air in the Hall as the men ate and drank and prepared themselves for battle. _Men,_ she thought bitterly. _How is it they can approach killing and dying with as much celebration as they would a wedding?_

Beside her, Ned acknowledged the cheers of his men and the calls of “Stark!” and “Winterfell!” but his mood was nearly as somber as her own, and he took her hand to leave the Hall earlier than most as he wished to take Robb up to bed himself and to see Sansa before she slept as well.

There was no point in trying to explain Ned’s leaving to Sansa as she was not old enough to understand it, so Ned simply lifted her onto his lap and told her a little story of a prince and a fair maiden while she clapped and kissed his cheek and squealed “Scratchy!” about his beard. When he lay her down and told her, “I love you, my little lady,” Catelyn heard his voice break, and she nearly broke down herself.

She found it even more difficult to keep her emotions in check in Robb’s room as she watched her husband and son together. The little boy had been excited to eat with all the men in the Great Hall tonight, and he’d listened to their shouts and songs and tales with wide eyes. She’d smiled genuinely when he raised his own high pitched voice to shout “Winterfell!” to the great amusement of the men around him. Now, however, as Ned explained to his son in his soft, deep voice that he would be leaving on the morrow for a very long time and that Robb would need to look after his lady mother, the little boy’s eyes looked more worried than anything else.

“You will come back soon, though, won’t you Father?” he asked anxiously. “Mother and Sansa and Baby Stark will be frightened with you gone.”

“Oh, they won’t be nearly as frightened as they would be without you here, Robb. You see, the ladies know I trust you to look after them, and Baby Stark will learn the same quickly enough once he arrives,” Ned assured him.

“So, they don’t need to be scared because I’m here. But you will come back very soon, right?” Robb insisted once more.

Ned sighed and pulled Robb onto his lap. “It will seem to you that I am gone a very long time, I am afraid, Robb. Longer than you ever remember my being gone before. And it will seem even longer to me, for I will miss you and your mother and sister more than I can say.”

Robb frowned. He did not remember the time when Ned and Catelyn had gone to King’s Landing any more than he remembered his own abduction, thank the gods, and the prospect of his father being gone longer than ever before did not please him. He was a well-loved child who knew nothing other than security and joy, and it broke Catelyn’s heart to see him consider that life had a darker side as well. She knew he had to learn it one day, but still she hated it.

“Wars are stupid,” he said suddenly, clinging to his father’s neck. “I think you should stay here.”

Ned actually laughed then. “Wars are generally stupid, son. Wasteful as well. I hope you remember that as you grow older.” He gently pulled the little boy from around his neck so that he could look at him. “And I wish I could stay here. But I cannot, Robb. When men do evil things, it is the place of just and honorable men to stop them.”

“And you are a just and honorable man,” Robb said gravely, looking as grown up as a five year old can.

“I try to be, Robb,” Ned whispered. “I try to be.”

They walked in silence from Robb’s room to Catelyn’s chambers and as soon as the door closed behind them, he pulled her into his arms. “Leaving you is more difficult every time I do it,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I do not want to go and do this, Cat.”

“I know,” she said. “Just as I know that you must. And that you will. But you are still here now, my love.”

He smiled at her then. “So I am.”

She allowed him to lead her to the bed and carefully undress her, for once not even worrying about her swollen body making her unattractive to him. He had assured her repeatedly he found her beautiful even now, and tonight she did not have time for her own insecurities. When he piled up the pillows at the head of the bed and lay her back naked to recline in a half seated position, she smiled at him, watching him begin to remove his own clothes.

“You don’t want me to help you with that?” she asked him.

“I don’t want you to move. I want to look at you. Just like that.” The grey eyes burned into hers and then began to move over her entire body, and she swore she felt heat everywhere his gaze landed.

When he knelt over her and kissed her, gently at first and then more insistently, she felt even more heat. She put her hands on the back of his head, holding him to her as his lips and tongue explored her mouth and her neck. She moaned as he moved his mouth lower and put it on first one nipple and then the other, teasing each in turn with his tongue and then sucking at them. He kept his body lifted above hers, though, supporting his weight on his arms over her enormous belly.

As he moved his face back to hers in order to kiss her lips again, she murmured against him. “You know we can’t do it like this any more, Ned. Not until after the baby.”

He raised a brow at her. “And how do you know what it is I intend to do, my lady?” he teased her. Then he quite intentionally ran his beard over the place on her neck that he knew tickled her.

She giggled reflexively, and then squealed, “Scratchy!” in an imitation of Sansa, causing him to laugh as well.

“Scratchy is it?” he asked her, grinning wickedly before moving himself further down her body. He kissed along the swell of her belly as he went, and then she felt his lips and beard against the insides of her thighs, as well as his hands gently urging them apart.

She opened her legs to him, and he pressed his mouth against the most sensitive part of her, licking and sucking at her little nub and then pushing his tongue inside her folds. She threw back her head and gave herself completely to the sensation of him there, letting go of all her grief and fears and worries, aware of nothing but the feeling of what her husband was doing to her in this moment. Finally, she shattered beneath his touches, her body jerking uncontrollably beneath him and her eyes closing tightly.

When she opened her eyes again, breathing hard and heart still fluttering, she looked up to see him looking at her face with an expression on his own that she never wanted to forget. She swallowed. “Love me, Ned,” she whispered hoarsely, turning onto her side to allow him to get behind her.

He moved quickly, and she felt his hard cock pressing at her hips as he lay behind her wrapping his arms around her and pressing his lips against the back of her neck. She pressed back against him, parting her legs to encouraging him. “Love me,” she said again.

As she felt him enter her, she heard him gasp, and he breathed the word, “Always.” She moved her hips against him, matching the rhythm of his thrusts and soon found herself coming apart again, tightening around him as he spilled his seed within her.

Afterward, they lay silently in each other’s arms for a long time, although neither felt sleepy. The babe began to kick, and he moved his hand to feel it better. “I want so much to be here with you. To hold you when this new Stark makes his entrance,” he said after a bit.

“I know. I want that, too.” She turned in his arms then, rolling to face him. “But I can bring our babe into the world with you away, Ned. I won’t like it, but I can do it. What I can’t do is . . .raise our babe in a world without you in it.” She had forgotten her fears for a brief moment, but that time was over, and she looked toward the morning with terror for him in her heart.

“You can, you know,” he said softly. “I will do all that I can to see that you do not have to, my love. But if I do not return, you will be everything that our children need you to be. I know that well.”

“I would try,” she said softly, biting back her tears. “I can only promise you I would try.”

He was silent for awhile. “Cat,” he said after a moment. “It has been nearly a year since I’ve seen Jon.”

She didn’t say anything. She was never sure quite what she was supposed to say about Lyanna’s son.

“We will pass near Greywater Watch on our way to Seagard. We must travel in haste on our way to battle, so I cannot stop then. But if we return the same way . . .”

“You would like to stop and see the boy,” she said.

“I would,” he acknowledged. “I would not tarry long. I have reason to hurry back,” he said, placing a hand once more on her belly. “But I would not have my nephew forget me or believe I have forgotten him.”

“Very well,” she said, thinking that mayhaps returning before the birth of their child mattered not so much to him after all. _That_ _is unfair,_ she chided herself. _He is unlikely to return before this child’s birth in any event. I should not begrudge his sister’s boy a day or two of his time._

“Cat?” he asked, hearing the hesitance in her voice.

“I would have you do what you think is best, my lord,” she said, trying very hard not to sound bitter. She could tell by the way he stiffened beside her that she hadn’t succeeded. She took a deep breath. “Ned,” she said reaching up to touch his face. “Please do what you must, my love. The children and I will be here waiting for you when you return.”

He ran a hand along the side of her head and down onto her shoulder. “Knowing that you are here, my love, is what will allow me to do all that I must.” He then put both hands on her face and turned it toward his in the ever darkening room. She could still see his eyes, as they gazed at her. “You do know that, don’t you?”

“I do,” she told him. Then remembering what he’d whispered as he’d made love to her, she added, “Always.”

He smiled at her then, and they held on to each other through the night.


	13. Robert

He wasn’t certain where he was. Robert Baratheon blinked hard against the light as his eyes opened up. For a brief moment, he thought himself in a brothel and decided that the previous night must have been a wild one. Then as he tried to move his left arm and cried out in pain, it came back to him.

 _Pyke. I’m at Pyke._ He turned his head to look at his arm, blinking hard once more to get his eyes to focus and saw that the entire left arm was swathed in bandages. _Damn,_ he thought. _That bloody reaver did a number on me._

About that time, a man came over to where he lay. “Your Grace! You’re awake!”

Robert squinted at him. “I’m awake, all right. Who are you?”

“Addam Lannys, Your Grace, of Lannisport. Would you like some water?”

“Ale,” Robert told him. “How long have I been here? Is the battle over?”

“The maester said water, Your Grace,” the boy said. Now that Robert’s vision was clearing, he could see that that Addam Lannys was more a boy than a man, no more than three and ten. “And the battle was pretty much over even before you were injured. Once we breached that wall, they didn’t stand a chance, Your Grace. Although, they did fight us hard, I have to say that for them.”

“They fought hard, all right,” Robert said grimly, trying again to move his left arm and wincing. He remembered the watchtower crumbling down after being bombarded by the siege engines and taking a large chunk of the wall around Pyke with it. That fat drunk of a priest had leapt through the opening brandishing that showy fire sword of his, and Robert’s army had surged in behind him. Ned and a pack of his Northmen had been near the front, he remembered. He’d been beside Ned as they met the Ironborn defenders hand to hand, him with his warhammer and Ned with that big, black greatsword of his. They’d slashed and beaten and hacked at the enemy on all sides. Gods, that had felt good. Robert had felt more alive than he had in a long time.

He reached out to take the cup Addam Lannys offered him, but then spit the contents back in the boy’s face. “I said ale, boy!” he roared, his voice sounding almost normal to him then. “Not this piss they call water here!”

“The maester says you need water, Your Grace,” the boy said hesitantly.

“Fuck the maester and fuck his water!” Robert swore. “Now bring me some ale and be quick about it!”

The boy ran from the room to comply, and Robert fell back onto the bed. He’d raised himself almost to sitting as he’d shouted at the boy, and he felt quite dizzy. It was a bed he was on, he realized, not a cot. They had taken control of the castle then. Pyke was theirs and he was recovering in one of the bedchambers there.

His thoughts returned to the battle. He’d fought in his share of battles, but he could recall few foes who fought as fiercely as these damned Ironborn. They’d made worthy opponents, that’s for sure. Robert’s forces had them well outnumbered. After Stannis and old Redwyne had smashed the Iron Fleet off Fair Isle, there simply weren’t enough defenders on the Iron Islands themselves. The bloody Ironborn hadn’t seemed to realize it, though, and it had seemed to Robert at times that their advance into the castle itself had been as much inch by inch as room by room.

The red priest had acquitted himself well. So, had that hairy Northman with the bear on his clothes. He’d have to remember to reward those two. The Ironborn had realized who he was, and he was quickly surrounded by defenders eager to kill the man they called Usurper. He’d merely grinned at them and swung his hammer at them. He couldn’t remember having such fun.

And Ned Stark had stayed right by him. If he were honest with himself, he’d have gone down any number of times if that frozen faced, too honorable for his own damned good bastard hadn’t covered his flank. The infuriating man had barely spoken a dozen words to him outside of war councils since they’d met up at Seagard, and yet he fought by his side just he’d always done.

“I hear you’re thirsty, Your Grace.”

Robert looked up to see the frozen faced Northman in question looking down at him from the doorway.

“Damned right, I am. Is that ale in that cup you’ve got?”

“No. It’s water.”

“Damn it, Ned! I told the boy . . .”

“I am not a boy, Robert, and you don’t frighten me. If you will drink the water, I shall give you some ale. But water first.”

“I can have you thrown in a cell,” Robert growled half-heartedly.

“Yes,” Ned said drily. “You’ve demonstrated that already.”

That startled Robert. He hadn’t actually been referring to that. He was only grumbling. “I . . .I didn’t . . .oh give me the bloody water.”

Ned crossed the room and handed him the cup. When Robert had drained it, making a face at the bitter taste of it, he looked back up at the man he’d once considered closer than a brother. “Well, man? I believe you promised me some ale.”

“Addam has gone to get some,” Ned said calmly. “You took a bad hit to the head, Robert.”

That confused him. He held up the left arm in spite of the pain it caused. “It’s my arm the man tried to take off, Ned. You know that. You were there.”

“So you do remember at least that much,” Ned said, and his face unfroze just a touch into one of those almost smiles you had to know him for years to learn to spot.

“Of course, I remember,” Robert told him.

“What happened next?” Ned asked calmly.

“Well, he swung at me, but the blade wasn’t angled right, so it was more of a glancing blow. And then the bloody idiot reached out with his other hand and punched me in the shoulder.” Robert thought hard. “I killed him,” he said, suddenly certain of it. Hit him with the hammer.”

Ned nodded. “And next?”

Robert thought and thought. Finally, he realized there was nothing there. “I woke up here,” he said sheepishly, and Ned actually laughed. “Gods, Stark, it’s like a bad morning after a bad night in the Vale, and I’m just lying here waiting for you to tell me what the hell I did.”

“You won a war, Your Grace,” Ned said softly.

“I did, didn’t I?” Robert grinned. “Let them call me a damned Usurper now! Gods, it was fun, wasn’t it, Ned?”

His friend’s grey eyes darkened. “It is good to be victorious,” he said after a moment. “And it is good that you’re alive.”

“Is it?” Robert asked him. “I get the distinct impression that you’d just as soon I drop dead a great deal of the time.”

“Robert . . .” Ned started.

Robert waved his right arm, the one that didn’t hurt like hell. “Never mind, Ned. Tell me what happened after I killed the bastard who did this to my arm. My arm is going to be all right, isn’t it?”

“Your arm will be fine,” Ned assured him. “It’s likely to hurt like hell for some time, but no major damage was done. After you dropped the man, we continued to move forward into another room, and you rushed ahead of me. There appeared to be no one there and you turned to come back out when you suddenly pitched over forward to the floor.”

“What?”

Ned almost smiled again. “That’s what I was saying at the time, but then I realized there was a boy hiding behind one of the large tables in that room, and he’d thrown this at you.” He reached over and picked up a fairly sizable axe.”

“My gods!” Robert exclaimed.

“Yes,” Ned said. “Fortunately, the boy wasn’t skilled enough to have the blade hit your skull. The dull end of the thing hit you and knocked you out, but you’ve barely got a scratch on your scalp.”

“Where’s the boy who did it?”

Ned looked down. “Dead,” he said simply.

“Did you kill him?”

Ned shook his head. “He was only a scared kid, Robert. I would have taken him captive. But once you went down, other men rushed the room and he was killed pretty quickly, I’m afraid.”

“Damn,” Robert said, rubbing the back of his head and realizing it was quite sore. “I’d have liked to have met him.”

They sat silently for a moment, and Robert realized he hadn’t yet asked some very important questions. “What of Balon Greyjoy?”

“He’s our prisoner,” Ned said. “He is willing to bend the knee. It seems his son Maron was killed when the wall fell.”

“And Lord Mallister slew his oldest boy Rodrik at Seagard, didn’t he?” Robert asked.

Ned nodded.

“He’s only got the one more, right?”

“Theon,” Ned said. “He’s only a boy. Nine or ten. He has a daughter, too. She’s a bit older than Theon.”

Robert nodded, thinking. “And how long have I been out?”

“Only since yesterday, Your Grace. Ah, here’s your ale.” Robert looked up to see Addam Lannys return to the room with a large flagon. He reached for it, but Ned intercepted it, pouring a ridiculously tiny amount into the cup which had held the water.

“This will do for now, Your Grace,” Ned said calmly. “You may have more later.”

“Yes, Mother,” Robert scowled.

Addam’s eyes widened, and Ned laughed.

“Come and get me if he tries to get out of bed,” Ned told the boy.

Turning to Robert, he said, “You are to accept Lord Balon’s oath of fealty in front of everyone on the morrow. Rest up and be ready for that, Your Grace.”

“Yes, Mother,” Robert repeated meekly, and Ned turned to go.

Once he was certain that Ned was truly gone, Robert turned to Addam and growled, “Give me the rest of that ale, boy.”

The boy hesitated only a second before bowing his head and saying, “Yes, Your Grace.”

As the ale passed his lips, Robert decided there were times when it was actually good to be a king.

He did get out of bed and accept Balon’s oath the next day, and by the time everyone was ready to depart several days later, he’d come to several decisions. He’d already knighted Jorah Mormont, the Northman who’d fought so bravely when they’d come through the breach. Lannisport had suffered miserably in this conflict in the initial attack by the Ironborn, so he decided to hold a celebratory victory tournament there before returning to King’s Landing, and he had ravens sent out announcing it.

The most serious decisions he made both involved Ned Stark, and he walked down to the docks in Lordsport to find his friend supervising the loading of several galleys on the day before they were to begin sailing from Pyke.

“Ned!” he called.

Ned turned and bowed his head respectfully. Robert hated that. “Your Grace.”

“I need to talk to you, man. Come up and have a drink with me.”

Ned sighed, but said a few words to a man there on the dock and came to follow him. When they reached a small tavern, Robert ushered his friend in. They were given a private room in which to talk, and a woman with black hair, big teats, and a missing front tooth brought them ale.

“You are certain you won’t come with us to Lannisport, Ned?” Robert asked him.

“I have told you I wish to return home, Your Grace. My lady wife should have gone to the childbed by now, and I have received no word. I need to get to Winterfell.”

Robert nodded. While Ned no longer confided in him, he knew that the lack of ravens from Winterfell had distressed him greatly. He was more than fond of his Tully wife. That had been obvious enough in King’s Landing, and birthing children could be dangerous business. “I understand.” He paused a moment. “Will you be stopping in Greywater Watch to see Lyanna’s boy?”

He had asked the question quite casually, and the look that came over Stark’s face was too comical for him not too laugh. “Oh, don’t turn Winterfell upside down when you get back there, Ned,” Robert told him. “No one’s betrayed your secret. It’s only that I’m not entirely stupid. I know that crannogman rode with you from King’s Landing to Storm’s End. It only makes sense that he stayed with you when you went after Lyanna. And I know damned well those bloody frogeaters are as much myth and legend as they are men. If I were going to hide a bastard, that’s the first place I’d think to do it.”

Ned was silent.

Robert sighed. “Take him home, Ned.”

“What, Your Grace?” Ned asked, blinking somewhat stupidly.

“I said take the boy home. He’s the blood of Winterfell, isn’t he? So, raise him there. Lyanna would have liked that.”

“Robert, I will not allow any harm to . . .”

“Oh, shut up, Ned. I mean the boy no harm. Dayne’s dead. No one else seems to give a damn about him, and I just won a war. The tournament in Lannisport will be splendid. No one will doubt my hold on the Iron Throne after this. I can afford to be magnanimous to one bastard boy.”

“I have no reason to believe you, Robert,” Ned said then. “I wish I did, but . . .”

“What harm have I ever done you, Ned? Oh, I know I’ve made threats, but what actual harm have . . .”

“You sent a criminal to steal my son!” The words were shouted, and the sounds from the main room of the tavern actually quieted in their wake. “My son was stolen from my home on your orders.” Ned’s words were quiet then, but they froze Robert’s blood.

“I . . I . . I didn’t know. I never heard . . .”

“You never heard because I rode the man and his accomplice down. I retrieved my son and killed the man. He’d already killed the woman, and it’s a wonder my son wasn’t killed as well.”

Robert closed his eyes. He remembered well enough what Littlefinger had whispered to him. He remembered writing to his man at Barrowton and demanding Robb Stark be spirited away. He couldn’t for the life of him remember why he’d ever thought it was a good idea. Never having heard anything of it, he’d thought, mayhaps, the attempt had never been made, although once or twice in King’s Landing he’d detected something in Ned’s demeanor that made him wonder.

Now, he drained the ale from his mug, put his face in his hands, and then looked across the table at Ned Stark. “I was wrong,” he said simply, speaking words that did not come easily to him.

“You were. And I wanted to kill you for it,” Ned in even tones. “Robb is my son, Robert. When we discovered him gone, Catelyn was destroyed. I was destroyed. You have a son of your own. Can you not understand what you did to us?”

Robert swallowed. In truth, he gave his son little thought. The boy cried whenever he looked at him. Joffrey wasn’t smiling and robust like his bastard babes Robert knew. He thought it some Lannister defect. Mayhaps the boy was destined to be as cold and unfeeling as his mother. Still, if he were stolen away . . .Yes, he would likely want to kill any man who dared take his son and heir.

“I said I was wrong,” he told Ned. “I give you my word I will make no further attempt at any harm to your son or your nephew.”

“I have a daughter as well,” Ned growled. “And another son or daughter, most likely. I’ll not have any of them taken hostage or threatened or interfered with in any way.”

“They won’t be,” Robert said. “None of them. Not even your twelfth child, and gods know as often as you seem to fuck that pretty wife of yours, you’ll likely have a dozen.”

Ned actually growled, and Robert held up his hands. “I mean no disrespect to Lady Catelyn, Ned. Gods, man, I envy you. If I hadn’t married a coldhearted bitch who keeps her cunt locked up tighter than a miser’s treasure, I’d likely have more children by now. More trueborn children.” He shook his head. “You have no idea how often I’ve wished your sister hadn’t died,” he said. “I’d have married her, Ned. I’d have made her my queen and taken her as mine with Rhaegar’s bastard and all.”

Ned shook his head slowly, but Robert meant it. If he were honest with himself, he didn’t know if he could actually have done all that, but he liked to think he would have. It would have been better than being wed to Cersei. _I did love Lyanna_ , he thought. _We would have been happy. It would have been good._

“I would like to believe you, Robert,” Ned said then. “I truly would. But you once told me that you needed something more than my word if you were to ever trust me, and I now feel the same way.”

“All right, then,” Robert said, and he watched Ned’s eyes widen in surprise. “How about the security of my throne? Will that do?”

“Robert,” Ned started, shaking his head.

“I am taking Balon Greyjoy’s son as a hostage,” Robert interrupted. “I cannot trust the man. Only a fool would trust the man. So, I am taking his heir. While Balon remains true to his oath, his son lives. If he breaks it, his son dies. It is that simple.”

“Robert, Theon Greyjoy is only a boy.”

“Precisely,” Robert said. “So, he can be raised with honor. He can be raised to understand the ways of civilized men. Then when he becomes Lord of the Iron Islands, we shall have a true and loyal lord to the Iron Throne.”

“And you are going to raise this honorable lord?” Ned asked dubiously.

“No,” Robert said. “You are.”

“What? No, Robert, I don’t wish to . . .”

“This is not a request, Ned. This is an order from your king. You will take the Greyjoy boy as your ward. There is no one more suited to teach him of honor. But if Balon steps out of line, his life is forfeit.”

Ned swallowed. “I do not kill children,” he said.

“Oh, I’ve no doubt Balon will behave for a number of years, at least,” Robert told him. “We’ve crippled his fleet and damaged his islands pretty badly. By the time, he considers rebelling again, his son will no longer be a child.”

“Robert . . .”

“I know you hate this, Ned. But I have made up my mind. And if you look at it clearly, it is a win for you. I am trusting you with this boy. If I ever do go back on my word to leave you and yours alone, including the Targaryen bastard, you could return him to his father.”

Robert shrugged. “It is surety for you against me as clearly as it is surety for me against Lord Balon.”

“But I do not want . . .” “Lord Stark,” Robert said in his most formal manner. “You will take the Greyjoy boy as your ward. That is a royal command.”

“Very well, Your Grace,” Ned said just as formally.

Robert hated the formality. He hated everything that had come to pass between the two of them, but he could not undo any of it. Mayhaps, once Ned was at home with his family once more, he could see that Robert truly meant this for the best.

Ned rose from his chair then. “Your Grace,” he said. “If the boy is coming with me on the morrow, I would like to at least introduce myself to him and see that someone assists him in packing whatever he needs.”

“Very well,” Robert said, realizing this was likely the last night he and Ned would be in the same place for a very long time, and wishing they could spend it together as they did when they were younger, laughing and drinking and looking at pretty women. Well, Ned had usually confined himself to looking. Robert had always progressed to the touching. He thought about the waitress who’d served them. Her big teats looked like they’d make comfortable pillows. She’d smiled at him widely enough to make the missing tooth obvious. She’d likely prove warm and willing. Mayhaps he’d stay for another drink and see just how friendly she was.

Ned was at the door, when Robert called out to him. “Ned!”

“Yes, Your Grace?”

“I know you want to get home to Winterfell. But do stop and get the boy. Take Lyanna’s boy home.”

He watched his old friend stand very still for a bit, and then give an almost imperceptible nod before walking out.

 _That’s good,_ Robert thought. _That’s a very good thing, indeed._ Then he banged the empty mug on the table to draw the waitress’s attention.


	14. Eddard

As Ned walked out of the tavern, his mind moved in a thousand directions. The ever present worry for Catelyn was there. _Surely the babe has come by now!_ The competing needs to rush to his wife’s side and to stop long enough to see to his nephew warred within him. And now Robert had told him to take the boy home. The gods knew he wanted to. Jon belonged at Winterfell, not Greywater Watch. He was a Stark in all but name. Yet, Ned was still fearful. Robert’s moods were as changeable as storms. He knew that well. Beyond concerns about Robert, there was Catelyn to consider. Ned was not blind to the fact that his wife still harbored some misgivings about having Jon there with their children. She would not defy him, but he had no wish to make her unhappy. He’d heard the occasional whispers about Ashara’s dead babe and knew that she did as well. She’d never mentioned it to him. Never complained. Yet, he knew it must be difficult for her. Jon’s presence would bring whispers as well. For all that Ned had acknowledged him as Lyanna’s babe, the questions surrounding his birth could never be answered to everyone’s satisfaction.

He sighed. As if that weren’t enough, Robert had now given him custody of Theon Greyjoy. _What am I to do with the boy?_ He was young, certainly, but not stupid as far as Ned knew. No doubt, Balon would make it clear enough to the child precisely what his status would be at Winterfell. Balon was not a man who would mind terrifying a child at all. This boy would know well enough he was a glorified hostage against his father’s good behavior. How was Ned to treat him as a true foster son with that hanging between them? From a strategic standpoint, taking the boy made sense, he knew. Robert was right about Balon Greyjoy. He was not a man to be trusted ever. Yet, Ned wished Robert had chosen anyone else for the task.

 _Robert._ Ned did believe that Robert felt he was doing the best he could by everyone in this. It didn’t mean that he agreed with him. Nor did it mean he had forgiven him. The rage he’d felt when Robert had insinuated he’d never done Ned any real harm had been as powerful as it had been the day Catelyn had told him Robb had been taken. His fists clenched now as he walked just thinking about it. No, he could never truly forgive Robert for that. Yet, he now knew he could never actually hate the man, either. Fighting by his side, fearing him killed by that bloody axe . . .memories had surfaced he’d thought long dead and buried. Robert would never be to him the brother he had once been, but Ned finally admitted that some bonds were forged too strong to be broken completely, and he wished no harm on Robert Baratheon.

Before mounting his horse to ride back up to the castle, Ned decided to check in at the message boat. They had sent ravens from Pyke throughout the Seven Kingdoms as soon as they’d taken the castle, but that had only been a matter of days ago. Many incoming ravens had been sent to Seagard and the letters they carried were still arriving to Pyke by boat. The letters were collected and kept on a small galley tied up at the dock until their recipients could be located. Ned had been gone to the message boat almost daily, but nothing had come for him.

Today was no different. A man standing on the deck stopped him before he even had a chance to board. “Lord Stark!” he called. “There’s no letter from Winterfell. I’m sorry.”

The man looked truly sorry for him, and Ned wondered if his frequent inquiries here made him an object of pity. He did not want that. As he turned to go back to where he’d left his horse, he saw a tall man with black hair standing against a rail and staring out at the sea. It took him a moment to recognize Stannis Baratheon, for he had an almost lost expression on his face unlike any Ned had ever seen there before. As he looked at the man, Ned registered that he held a piece of parchment clenched tightly in one fist.

He was unsure why he felt compelled to go to the man. Stannis certainly had no love for him. As the man had been forced to wed a woman he believed Ned had bedded and gotten with child, Ned couldn’t truly blame him. Yet, Ned wished only the best for Robert’s brother, and it bothered him that Robert acknowledged him so little. Stannis’s brilliant management of the naval battle at Fair Isle had made their assault on Pyke possible, and Stannis had then led the assault on Great Wyk himself. Always the dutiful brother, he’d done all in Robert’s name and asked for no personal acclaim, but Ned suspected he wanted some recognition badly and had encouraged Robert to praise Stannis’s accomplishments at least as highly as he had some others who had done far less.

Stannis seemed not to hear him approach now, standing as a statue and staring into the distance.

“My lord?,” Ned said softly. Still the man did not turn. “Lord Baratheon, are you well?”

Slowly, Robert’s brother turned to face him. His face at first was oddly blank, but as he recognized Ned, a cold anger seemed to spark in those dark blue eyes. “Lord Stark,” he said slowly, and his voice sounded odd to Ned.

“Have you received some news from home, my lord?” Ned asked gently, nodding toward the parchment still clenched in the man’s fist.

“Home,” he repeated dully, as if the word had no meaning. “I have had a letter from Dragonstone.” He paused, and then added almost inaudibly, “I have a son.”

“A son?” Ned was shocked. He hadn’t even heard Lady Ashara was with child. Of course, he had spent little time with Stannis himself, and he supposed it was not surprising that Robert had not found his brother’s impending fatherhood worth mentioning.

The shock must have shown on his face because Stannis’s own face twisted angrily. “Yes, Stark, a son. Did you think me somehow less capable of bedding my wife than you are?”

“No!” Ned said hurriedly. “I mean . . I only . . .I did not know you and Lady Baratheon were expecting a child. Congratulations, my lord. That is wonderful news.”

Only Stannis Baratheon did not look like a man who had just received wonderful news. The expression on his face seemed to contain more than just his usual anger and resentment toward Ned. “Wonderful news,” he repeated dully. “Yes. It would seem I have a son . . .but I no longer have a wife.” He turned to stare out at the sea again.

His words took a moment to sink in, and then Ned felt his heart drop. “Oh gods,” he breathed. “Not Ashara.”

Stannis jerked back around to look at him, blue eyes blazing once more. “ _Lady_ Ashara was taken by a fever after childbirth,” he said. “And she was my wife to grieve, Stark, not yours.”

Ned barely heard him. His sadness for Ashara had immediately been replaced by panic for Catelyn. He could not lose her. He couldn’t. Wildly, he looked at the parchment in Stannis’s hand and prayed that such an evil thing would never come to him. _Be_ _safe, Cat. Be well. Be safe._

He became aware that Stannis was staring at him with an odd sort of fascination, and he wondered what showed on his own face. “Gods, man,” Baratheon finally said, sounding bitter but oddly curious, too. “Did the woman honestly still mean so much to you, even after all this time?”

“What?” Ned said stupidly, his mind still presenting him with images of Cat, feverish and limp, calling out his name. He forced such thoughts away from him and realized what Stannis thought. “No,” he said firmly. “I am very sorry for your loss, my lord. Lady Baratheon was a fine woman, but she is not the cause of my distress.” He swallowed. “I fear that your news caused me to think of my own wife. She, too, is with child. Or she was. The child should have come by now, and I have had no word.”

It was strange, to speak so to Stannis Baratheon of all people. Ned had kept his fears mostly to himself. Robert certainly could not understand them. Robert’s brother, however, looked at him with a kind of understanding. “I hope all is well with her, Lord Stark. I have heard that you and your lady wife are . . .close.”

“We are,” Ned acknowledged simply.

“And you are proud of her.”

“I am.” Speaking of Catelyn was almost too painful at the moment as fearful as he was for her.

“You told me once that I would learn to take pride in my wife. I had begun to believe that with time, perhaps . . .” The man’s voice trailed off, and he looked seaward again. “It appears I am not to be given time.”

They stood there silently a moment. “Will you be leaving for Dragonstone immediately, my lord?” Ned asked then.

“Why would I do that?” Stannis asked, seeming genuinely puzzled.

“To see your son, my lord.”

“Oh. I must stay awhile in Lannisport first. Robert insists that I attend this tournament.”

“But once he knows! Once you tell him what has happened . . .” Ned protested.

“He will tell me that my wife is beyond my help, and that not having teats myself, I am little use to my son at present. I would do better to go where I am needed.”

Ned was silent at that because that was very likely precisely the response Stannis would get from Robert. He wished there was something he could do for the man, but Stannis Baratheon would likely not accept comfort from anyone. Least of all, in this matter, from him. “What is his name?” he asked finally.

“Whose name?”

“Your son’s.”

“Oh,” Stannis said softly. “Before she died, my lady wife named him Orys.”

“It’s a strong name,” Ned said. “A Baratheon name.”

Stannis nodded. “It’s a Targaryen name as well, you know. Orys was rumored to have been Aegon’s bastard brother. And when he took Storm’s End, and Argella was brought to him naked and in chains, he covered her with his own cloak, treated her well, took her to wife, and did not shame her.” Ned saw the movement of Stannis’s throat as he swallowed. He turned to look directly at Ned again then. “I was not cruel to her, Stark.”

“No. I never believed you would be, my lord. Orys Baratheon was strong, fierce, and proud. Not cruel. Your lady wife chose your son’s name well.”

He nodded once, clenching his teeth and turning away again. Ned left then, and as he rode back up to the castle, his heart was filled with both sorrow and pity for Stannis and Ashara, and even more with love and fear for his own Lady Catelyn.

The crossing to Seagard went smoothly, and for that Ned was grateful. Spring squalls had been common all the time they’d been at Pyke, and he was not a good sailor in the best of conditions. The little Greyjoy boy handled the crossing well, no doubt having been on boats since birth, but he remained quiet and sullen, resisting all of Ned’s attempts to draw him out. Ned couldn’t blame him.

At Seagard, Lord Mallister greeted him joyfully, but told him he had received no ravens from Winterfell. Nor had he heard anything from Riverrun concerning Lady Catelyn. Ned’s heart fell. By his reckoning, the babe should have arrived nearly a full moon ago, and he knew Catelyn would have written to her father. In turn, Lord Hoster would hardly receive news of a new grandchild without sending the tidings out to all his bannermen. _She is dead,_ he thought bleakly. _She is dead, and they do not wish me to read it in a letter._

Lord Jason offered him a more encouraging possibility for the lack of communication. “The spring storms have been terrible, my lord, and what few travelers we’ve seen from the North tell us they’ve been far more violent and frequent there. In truth, we’ve heard little from any northern keep for some time, and I suspect any poor bird that has been sent out hasn’t fared very well.”

He accepted Lord Jason’s hospitality for only one night, and held tightly to the man’s words as he rode northward. He repeated them to himself frequently as he bid his men wait for him when he rode into the swamps with two of Howland’s men toward Greywater Watch, and again when he rode back out two days later with a small grey eyed boy seated before him on his saddle.

“Must I go to Winterfell, Uncle?” the little boy had asked him solemnly.

“Winterfell is your home, Jon,” Ned had assured him. “I know it will seem strange at first, but you will come to love it as your mother did. She lived there all her life.” _Until she ran away with Rhaegar Targaryen._

“And the cousins you speak of, they will be glad to have me there?”

“Of course, Jon. Your cousin Robb is precisely your age, and you two will be wonderful friends. You’ll grow up like brothers.”

His nephew had regarded him carefully then. It always startled Ned to see Lya’s ever slightly suspicious eyes looking out of the little boy’s face. In the year since he’d seen him last, Jon had grown to look even more like his mother than ever. Yet, with the exception of that hint of suspicion, the boy’s personality was more reflective of his own than of Lya’s. He was as calm as Lya had been wild, and Ned was grateful for that. His future would be difficult enough without his mother’s wild wolf blood.

“How do you know my cousin will like me when he hasn’t even met me?”

 _He hasn’t even heard of you,_ Ned thought. _But you will be close. I know you will._ “Because I know both of you,” he assured Jon. “And I have no doubts that you will become fast friends.”

When they returned to the men, Ned immediately saw the looks Jon got, and the way the men looked back and forth between Jon’s face and his own. “Most of you are aware that my sister Lyanna bore a son before her death,” he said loudly. “This is her child, Jon Snow. It is time for him to come home.”

There were murmurs and mumblings, but Jon was welcomed, and none of the men asked any questions about him. Theon Greyjoy, however, watched him closely, and he came to Ned by the fire one evening.

“That little boy. The men say his name is Snow. That’s a bastard name, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Ned said gruffly.

“Is he the child of one of your salt wives, then?”

Ned spit his drink. “I have no salt wives, Theon. We do not take salt wives here.”

“You just get bastards on whatever women you wish, then?”

 _Gods!_ For all that Ned had wanted the boy to have a real conversation with him, this was not the conversation he wished to have.

“Theon,” he said gravely, “Sit down. It is dishonorable to take a woman who is not your wife, and to leave her with a child is a terrible thing. But Jon is not my child with any woman. Did you not hear me say he is my sister’s son?”

“He looks like you,” Theon said simply, stating the obvious fact that Ned knew all too well would be noted by all who saw the boy.

“My sister looked like me as well,” he said. “Only much prettier.”

“So some man got a bastard on your sister?” Theon asked bluntly.

“I am afraid so, Theon.”

The Ironborn boy frowned. “I am my father’s trueborn son,” he said. “The heir to the Iron Islands. Yet, you treat that little bastard as well as you treat me.”

Ned fought to control the anger that rose up in him before responding. Theon was older than Jon, but still a child, and he was only repeating what he’d learned. Bastards were of tainted blood, not to be trusted and never to be afforded the same respect as trueborn noble children. _Jon is no bastard,_ came the treacherous thought to his mind, and he forced it away. _He is. And for him to have any life at all, he must remain one._

“Theon,” Ned said gravely. “You are certainly entitled to the respect due your name, and you shall receive it at Winterfell. I have told you that I wish you to be happy there. But Jon is my sister’s child. He is my blood. However he came into this world, it was not his doing, and I will not punish him for it. He is as welcome in my home as you are. Do not ever doubt that.”

Theon looked at him for a moment and nodded before wandering away to find a stick with which to poke at the fire. Ned realized that Jon had been sitting against a tree not far away during the exchange and wondered how much he had heard. The boy never said a word about it.

When the walls of Winterfell finally rose up before him, his heart very nearly exploded out of his chest, and he very nearly spurred his horse to a gallop as soon as he saw them. Instead, he stopped completely and offered a fervent prayer that all was well within those walls and that he would hold his wife safely in his arms within the hour. Fear and anticipation in equal measure nearly overwhelmed his capacity for rational thought, but he forced himself to think clearly. He had sent a raven from Seagard about Theon Greyjoy. If that bird had arrived, then Catelyn would be expecting the Ironborn boy, but Jon would be a surprise.

“Jon,” he said carefully to the little boy in front of him on the horse. “You are the biggest surprise I am bringing back to the castle, and I think I should save you for last. How about you ride with Jory now, and once I have greeted your aunt and your cousins, we shall introduce you to them?”

The boy nodded without looking around. He was staring at the huge grey walls of Winterfell, so unlike anything he had known in Greywater Watch. Ned rode back to Jory who accepted the plan without question. He’d already befriended Jon quite a lot on the journey here, so Jon went to him happily enough. Then Ned turned his horse toward Winterfell without another backward glance.

Once he heard the horn from the gate announcing his arrival, he could not help himself. He did gallop the rest of the way, and he smiled to see the people of the castle hurriedly assembling as he approached the gates.

A cheer went up as he rode in a good bit ahead of the others. He knew the rest of the party had increased their pace as well, but not nearly as much as he had. He looked around the yard wildly, and then he saw her. She was running from the direction of the Great Keep, hair blowing behind her, little Sansa on one hip and her other hand holding Robb’s. He felt moisture sting his eyes and his breath came short at the sheer relief of seeing her alive and well and with his children.

He nearly vaulted off the horse and ran to her in a most unlordly manner. She was laughing when he reached her, and he caught her in his arms, careful of the little girl she held. “I have missed you,” he said into her hair.

“I have missed you, too, my love.” Her voice was controlled, but he heard the slight tremor in it and saw the moisture in her eyes.

Suddenly aware of all the eyes upon them, he released her and stepped back to simply look at her. As his eyes traveled down her body, it was obvious, even through her cloak that she was no longer with child. His eyes came back to hers, questioning.

“Your newest daughter is well, my lord,” she said.

“Daughter?” Ned choked. The word felt thick in his mouth, as if hearing Catelyn speak of her suddenly made her real.

A tiny shadow crossed Catelyn’s face then. “Yes, my lord. You have another daughter. Did you not . . .”

He didn’t let her finish before grabbing her arms. “And you, Cat? You are well? Truly well?”

She looked at him closely and seemed to recognize the panic he’d felt for her face softened into a smile. _Gods, I love her smiles!_

“I am truly well, Ned. Now that you are safely home, I am truly well, indeed.”

“Father!” Robb was unable to control himself any longer and had begun tugging insistently on the leg of Ned’s breeches.

Ned laughed, letting go of his wife’s arms to hoist his son into the air. “My gods, boy!” he exclaimed. “You weigh twice as much as when I left you! How many pies have liberated from the kitchen during my absence?”

Robb laughed. “I’ve been very good, Father. Ask Mother! And I took care of Mother and Sansa just like you said. And Baby Stark came out. Only she’s a girl. But she looks more like you than like Mother!”

Ned held his son to him, never wanting to let him go. At that last comment, he looked toward his wife, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s true,” Catelyn laughed. “This one is all Stark. You shall see.”

“Where is she?”

“In my chambers. I realize this is what you Northmen call almost summer, but it is still far too cold to drag a newborn out for any length of time--even if she is a Stark.” The smile on her face was giving him life, making the long separation seem further away by the moment.

“And what of my pretty Tully daughter?” he asked then. “Have you missed your old father at all, my little lady?”

Sansa had been clinging tightly to Catelyn, but she smiled at Ned shyly. “Papa,” she said. She reached out a little hand and touched his beard. “Papa,” she said again.

Ned twirled one of her little curls on his finger, noticing that her auburn hair was quite a bit longer than it had been. It made her look more a little girl and less a baby, and the realization struck him painfully. “I believe she’s grown even more than Robb has,” he said to Catelyn.

“Oh, she has,” his wife agreed. “You are more than welcome to spend the next few days carrying her about if you would like to see just how much she’s grown.”

Ned laughed and reached for her, but she ducked her head against Catelyn’s shoulder. He tried not to be hurt.

“She’s only being shy, Ned,” Catelyn said softly. “It won’t last.”

Ned looked behind him to see that the other men had all made it into the castle now, and he saw Theon Greyjoy standing alone, looking at the little family reunion. “Did you get the letter from Seagard, Cat?” he asked her.

She nodded. “Is that the Greyjoy boy?” she asked, following the direction of his gaze.

He nodded. “Theon!” he called. “Come and meet my family.” He put Robb down so that he could greet his new foster brother.

“My name’s Robb!” he exclaimed as Theon approached, even before Ned could introduce anyone properly. “You’re bigger than me. How old are you?”

Theon looked down at Robb as if her were an infant. “I am Theon Greyjoy,” he said, “Heir to the Iron Islands. I have seen ten name days.”

Robb just grinned at him. “Hey, I’m the heir to Winterfell. And I'm five. Do you have a practice sword already? Ser Rodrik says I’m almost old enough, but you’re old enough now. Do you . . .”

“Robb,” Ned interrupted. “Kindly let Theon breathe, and let me make the rest of the introductions.”

Abashed, Robb stood back a little, clasping his hands behind him and standing very straight.

“Theon,” Ned said, “These are my lady wife and my little daughter, Sansa.”

Theon looked at Catelyn without speaking, and she handed Sansa to Ned. He was gratified that she came to him without protest. Catelyn then bent down to speak to the Ironborn boy.

“Theon, I am Lady Stark. I know you probably miss your home, but you are very welcome here. I’ve had a special room prepared for you. I can have all of your things brought there, and you can keep them however you like them. Does that sound all right?”

“Yes, Lady Stark,” the boy said courteously enough.

“Would you like to see your room now?”

“Please, Lady Stark,” the boy said with an almost pleading note in his voice.

She called to Vayon Poole. “Please have someone gather all of Theon’s things, Vayon, and take them to his room. And have Etta take him there now, please.”

Etta stepped forward then. Ned hadn’t seen her in the group of people before. “Come along, young Theon,” she said brightly. “Aren’t you a big lad! Practically a man grown, I’d say.” She put a hand on Greyjoy’s shoulder and began to usher him away.

Ned looked after them. “Cat, are you certain that . . .”

“Has the child had a moment to himself since you took him from Pyke, my love?” she asked.

Ned shook his head.

“Think how strange all this must be to him. He needs some time alone, Ned. He needs to know he can have his own space here. And I could not think of anyone better to get him settled in than Etta. The woman had me feeling like Winterfell was home in five minutes!”

He smiled at his thoughtful and understanding wife. “You are right, my lady. As always.”

“I am also getting cold, Ned. And Sansa is shivering. Let’s go inside.”

“Wait.” He had spent moons commanding men, and he realized the word had come out very much as a command then. “I have someone else to show you first,” he said more softly.

He realized his daughter was indeed shivering, and he called to Septa Mordane who was standing not far away. “Would you take the little Lady Sansa inside, please, Septa?”

The woman stepped forward and Sansa went easily into her arms. “What about Robb, my lord?” she asked.

“I’d have Robb stay a moment,” he said.

“Catelyn,” he said as the septa carried Sansa into the Keep and other people began to move away to attend to various duties as well. “I have brought . . .”

“My lord!” Jory Cassel’s voice came from behind him, and Ned turned to see the man walking toward him leading Jon by the hand. “People had started coming up and asking him who he was,” Jory said softly. “I thought it best if . . .”

“You did well, Jory,” he said. “Catelyn, I have brought Jon home,” he said, turning back to his wife. Her face was pale, and she stared at the boy with an expression of shock and disbelief. Her blue eyes flickered between Jon’s face and his, and Ned’s heart clenched.

“Cat,” he whispered. “Cat . . .he is my nephew.”

She looked at him then and nodded slowly. “I . . .I know, my lord. It is only . . .”

“You look just like my father!” Robb chose that moment to exclaim loudly. “Who are you?”

“I’m Jon,” Jon said quietly, staring at Robb. “You must be Robb.”

“How do you know my name?”

“Uncle told me.”

“Uncle?” Robb looked up at Ned wonderingly. Ned went down onto his knee and drew both boys toward him. “I am Jon’s uncle, Robb. And you are his cousin.”

“Cousin?” Robb asked, a wondering grin blooming across his face. “I have a cousin?”

“You do,” Ned said. “You have heard me speak of my sister, Lyanna.”

“She died,” Robb said, reciting the most important thing he knew about his aunt.

“She did,” Ned agreed. “And I miss her very much. But before she died, she had a baby. Jon is your Aunt Lyanna’s son, and that makes him your cousin.”

Jon looked mostly at the ground, occasionally looking up at Robb, while Robb grinned at Jon openly. “A cousin is almost like a brother, right?” he asked, and Ned thought his heart might explode with joy at the question.

He heard Catelyn draw in her breath, though, and he looked up to see her still standing there, looking at the two boys as if she were uncertain what was happening and what she should do. “My lady?” he said softly, wanting so badly for her to accept this.

She looked at him, and then knelt down herself. “Jon,” she said. “I am Lady St . .I am your Aunt Catelyn.”

Ned released the breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding.

“I’m afraid you are quite a surprise to us, Jon,” she continued, “And I don’t have a room prepared for you yet. Would it be all right if you shared with Robb until you have a room of your own?”

“Yes!” Robb shouted, and Jon nodded shyly.

“Robb, why don’t you show Jon your room now, please,” Catelyn said, standing back up. Ned rose as well.

“Come on, Jon!” Robb said, and he took Jon’s hand, leading him into the Keep at a run.

With all of the children gone, Ned moved to take Catelyn’s hand. “Are you well, my love?” he asked her.

“I am . . .surprised,” she said. “I didn’t think . . .”

“Much happened while I was away. Robert has given his word that he will not trouble us. That he will not trouble Jon.”

“You believe him?”

Ned sighed. “I do. I still do not trust him as I once did, but I believe he means to keep his word in this, for now at least.”

She nodded. “He is very like you, Ned.”

He knew she wasn’t speaking of Robert. “He is,” he acknowledged. “He is more like Lya in some ways, but very like me in others.” She didn’t say anything. “You know he is not my child, Cat.” He didn’t mean it to be a question, but it sounded almost like one to his ears.

She met his eyes. “I know it,” she said. “But others will not believe it so readily.”

“Some will not,” he acknowledged. “I am sorry for any hurt this causes you, my lady, but I cannot keep my sister’s child away from Winterfell when there is no threat to him here. This should be his home.”

She nodded.

“Now, I would like to meet my new daughter. She is in your chambers?”

She nodded again, and he gave her his arm. The small weight of her hand on his arm as they walked into the Great Keep made his heart speed up. “What did you name her?” he asked then.

“Arya,” she said softly. “I called her Arya.”

“Arya,” he repeated. “It is beautiful, Cat. Like you.”

She looked up at him then, and the small cloud of tension that had sprung up between them in the courtyard seemed to vanish. “I have missed you more than you could possibly know,” she said, her voice breaking just a bit.

“You cannot possibly have missed me more than I’ve missed you, my love,” he told her.

They had reached her chambers now, and as soon as the door closed behind them he pulled her against him and held her tightly as he kissed her. All thoughts of his new daughter temporarily fled his mind as he was overwhelmed with the need to simply touch his wife and assure himself that she was indeed alive and unhurt. She seemed to feel the same for she wound her arms around him and returned his kiss with equal passion.

“Gods, Cat!” he exclaimed when their lips broke apart to draw breath. “I was so afraid for you! I thought I’d lost you! Why did you not send a letter?”

“I did!” she exclaimed. “I see now that you never got it, but I did send it, my love. And when I received no reply . . .” She clutched him tightly. “I worried you had been killed!”

He kissed her again, pressing his mouth her lips and to the tears that fell freely now from her eyes. “You’ll never know how that letter from Seagard gave me life,” she told him when next they broke apart. “Maester Luwin assured me it was likely only the storms that kept your letters from me, but I was too afraid to believe him.”

He laughed, thinking himself the most fortunate man on earth to be able to laugh once more in her arms. “Lord Mallister told me the same,” he said. “And I couldn’t quite believe him, either.”

A loud wail pierced the air in the room then, and Catelyn laughed.

“My daughter?” Ned asked.

“Your daughter. She was born during a particularly loud storm, and she’s been trying to make herself heard over it ever since.”

Catelyn slipped out of his arms and went to pick up the babe. He watched her undo the laces of her bodice as he’d seen her do countless times for Robb and Sansa, and he walked to stand beside her as she sat down and put the child to her teat. The little girl had brown hair, thicker than Sansa’s had been as a newborn, and her face was long like his. Her eyes were tightly closed as she suckled, so he couldn’t see them.

“She does have the Stark look,” he said.

“Does that please you?” Catelyn asked. “I know she is not a son, but she does at least look like you.”

He frowned. Dropping to his knees in front of the chair, he looked up at his wife. “I do not know how to make it plainer to you, my lady. All of my children are beautiful. I care not whether they resemble more the Tullys or the Starks. I care not whether they are boys or girls. They are yours and they are mine, and they each are more precious to me than anything on earth save their mother.”

“Forgive me, Ned,” she said. “I am foolish, I know.”

“You are not foolish,” he told her. “You are beautiful and brave, and you have done everything here alone and brought our daughter into the world alone as well. Then I return bringing you a hostage child and a nephew that any number of people will likely believe is my own bastard.” He swallowed. “Catelyn, it seems I am forever asking much of you, my love, when all I all wish to do is to hold you close to me and give you everything you desire.”

She smiled at him then. “You do give me everything I desire. I have no need of anything except you and our children, my lord. Now that you are home once more, I have everything I desire.”

Dinner in the Great Hall that night was a celebration. The drinks flowed freely, and the men likely drank more than they ate. Even Ned drank more than his usual, overwhelmed by the sheer joy of being home, of the feel of Catelyn’s thigh beneath his hand under the table, of the sight of Jon and Robb sitting together at the table, bright head and dark head close together as they shared some secret known only to small boys.

He left the Hall with Catelyn to put all the children to bed. She insisted that they at least stop to look in on Theon Greyjoy. He would not be interested in shows of affection, but she wanted him to at least know that he was not alone and forgotten. The two little boys were loath to leave the Hall, but the prospect of staying together in Robb’s room made it easier, and Ned knew perfectly well the two of them intended to stay awake all night sharing stories once he and Catelyn left. He also knew they would likely fall asleep within the hour from sheer exhaustion.

Sansa went down after a single lullaby which disappointed Ned as he could have listened to his wife sing for a lot longer. When they at last made their way to Catelyn’s chambers to retrieve Arya from Etta, he found his newest daughter wide awake, but mercifully not screaming. Etta handed her to him.

“She has grey eyes!” he exclaimed, getting his first good look at them wide open.

“Of course, she does,” Catelyn told him as she sat down to brush out her hair. “I told you she was all Stark.”

Ned smiled. “No. Whatever she looks like, I know she is half a Tully, so I shall forever need to be on my guard with her.”

“Ha, ha,” Catelyn said, as she took down one braid and then another before running the brush through her long, auburn hair. Ned could watch her brush her hair all night.

Once she’d brushed out her hair and removed her gown, she came to take the babe from him.

“She isn’t crying,” he protested.

“I know,” Catelyn said. “But as I wish to remain in bed for a few hours once I get there, I’d like to fill her up as full as I can get her now. She sleeps well when she’s satisfied, my love. But you’ve heard her when she’s hungry.”

Ned handed Arya to her mother, and then decided he could watch Catelyn feed their babe all night just as easily as he could watch her brush her hair. She caught him staring at her.

“What is it, my lord?” she asked.

“You are so beautiful,” he said. “I cannot stop looking at you.”

She blushed prettily. “I look a sight,” she protested. “In an old shift with a babe at my teat. I must resemble one of the old wetnurses from the town.”

He laughed at that. “None that I’ve seen.” Turning more serious, he said softly, “But then I’ve never seen any woman I find as beautiful as you, Cat.”

She smiled at him. “I want to be beautiful for you, my love.”

Arya seemed to have taken her fill, and Catelyn raised her to her shoulder to softly pat her back before laying her in the cradle.

“Might I sleep here tonight, my lady?” Ned asked then, feeling unaccountably shy with his own wife. “I know it is too soon for . . . I cannot bear not holding you.”

She came and put her arms around him. “I won’t tell Maester Luwin if you don’t,” she said wickedly.

“Catelyn! It has been barely a moon since Arya’s birth. Surely we must wait another fortnight at least!” With her body pressed against him beneath the thin fabric of her shift, he was rather painfully aware that he did not want to wait another fortnight at all or even another minute, but he would not risk hurting her.

“Maester Luwin is overly cautious,” she said. “My bleeding is long stopped and I feel perfectly well.” She hesitated, and he saw the color come to her cheeks again. “And I want you, Ned.”

At those words, he pulled her back into his arms and kissed her again. Had he had less to drink, he might have resisted more strenuously, but he found he had no desire to stop her as she began to remove his clothes, and before he quite knew what happened, they were both naked in her bed.

“Are you certain, Cat?” he breathed, his painfully hard cock poised just at her entrance.

In answer, she grabbed at his hips and brought him down against her. Groaning, he pushed into her, stopping only when he saw a slight grimace cross her face. “Have I hurt you?”

“No,” she breathed. “It feels . . .different. It was the same after Sansa. It will ease. Please, Ned.”

Still he hesitated, so she held him firmly by the hips, and thrust herself up further onto him, and he shivered at the sensation.

“Gods, Cat! I cannot keep still,” he said.

“Then don’t,” she whispered, laughing as she did so. The vibration of her body around him as she laughed drove the last of his reservations from his mind, and he began to move within her, slowly at first, mindful of her comfort, but more quickly and forcefully as she moved beneath him, urging him on. When, at last, she found her release, she bit his shoulder hard, and he recalled her doing the same when Sansa had been a newborn beside the bed, trying to keep from crying out and waking her. He smiled at at the memory even as he continued to thrust within her and then collapse onto her with his own release.

“Are you well?” he asked her, when he found his breath again.

“I have never been better, my love,” she assured him.

“Nor have I, my lady. Nor have I.”

He fell asleep holding his wife for the first time in three moons, and slept better than he had since he’d left her.

“Robb! Uncle is in here!” The harsh whisper woke Ned. Having been awakened by an invasion of small voices a number of times before, he quickly made certain that he and Catelyn were completely covered and then lay still, waiting to hear what this particular invasion was about.

“Of course, he is,” came Robb’s voice. “He always sleeps here.”

“I thought this was your lady mother’s room,” Jon whispered back.

“It is. Do you want to see the baby or not?”

Silence. Ned could easily picture Jon giving one of his solemn nods. Two small pairs of feet made their way around the bed, and Ned felt Catelyn stir beside him. He quickly gave her a squeeze and when she opened her eyes sleepily, he put his finger to his lips.

“She does look like me!” The excited exclamation was considerably louder than a whisper.

“I told you,” Robb said. “It’s like she’s your sister, and Sansa’s mine.”

Catelyn tensed beside him, and Ned regretted not interrupting the boys sooner.

“She’s not, though, “ Jon said. “She’s my cousin, just like you. Etta says she looks like my mother just like I look like your father. Etta knew my mother. She told me that yesterday when you had to go to the sept for prayers with Septa Mordane.”

“I don’t know why you didn’t have to come,” Robb grumbled.

“Because I keep the old gods,” Jon said.

“So do I,” Robb informed him.

“You have to do both. Because of your mother and your father. I only have a mother.”

“Oh,” Robb said. “And she’s dead,” he added sadly.

Silence again, but this time, Ned had his eyes opened, and he turned his head just enough to see Jon’s nod.

“I wouldn’t like not having a mother and father,” Robb said. “I can share mine with you, I guess. But if I share Mother, you have to come to the sept with us.”

Ned couldn’t help himself then, and he laughed. Immediately, Robb pounced on the bed, and Ned felt Catelyn clutch at the furs in order to keep herself decently covered.

“Father! You’re awake!”

“Well, I am now,” he told his son. “Whyever are you and Jon in your mother’s chambers so early? And what have I told you about knocking?”

Robb had the decency to look contrite. “I’m sorry, Father. It’s just that I told Jon that Arya looked like him and he didn’t believe me, and I wanted to prove it, and I didn’t know if you and Mother would ever get out of bed. You two sleep a lot sometimes.”

The snort of laughter from beside him gave Catelyn away.

“Mother!” Robb shouted gleefully, scrambling over Ned to pounce on Catelyn.

“Easy, Robb!” Ned cautioned. “Don’t bruise your poor mother.”

Catelyn raised herself up in the bed, carefully pulling the furs with her. “Robb, you know you are never to come into my chambers without knocking.”

“You didn’t get so mad about it when Father was gone,” Robb pouted. “Do you make him knock?”

The color that came to his wife’s face then almost caused Ned to lose complete control of the laughter which threatened to overtake him.

“Young man,” he said as severely as he possibly could. “You are being rude to your mother, and that is not acceptable. Apologize at once.”

“I’m sorry, Mother,” Robb said.

“Why don’t you go down to the Great Hall, Robb, since you are already dressed and obviously up for the day?” Catelyn sighed.

“Really?” Robb asked. “Jon and I can go by ourselves?”

“Wear your cloak,” Catelyn sighed. “And do not stay outside to play. It will be too chilly for another couple hours, yet.”

“Yes, Mother!” Robb said, throwing his arms around her neck.

Catelyn carefully pulled one of her bare arms out from beneath the furs to put around him. Then she kissed the top of his head, and he bounced over to hug Ned before jumping off the bed again. “Come on, Jon!” he nearly shouted.

Ned looked toward the cradle, but little Arya somehow remained asleep. It had only been an hour or two since Catelyn last rose to feed her, he thought.

Jon, who had done his best to melt into the shadows of the room now crept forward. “I apologize for coming into your room, Lady Stark,” he said formally. “I will not do it again.”

Ned could feel the tension in his wife’s body. She took a deep breath. “Thank you, Jon,” she said. “You may go with Robb now. The cooks tend to make quite a lot of food in the morning. No doubt you will find something you like to break your fast.”

“Thank you, Lady Stark,” Jon said gravely, moving toward the door.

Ned watched his wife looking at his little nephew as he walked slowly to the door where Robb waited. She was biting her lip. Suddenly, she called out his name.

“Jon!”

He turned to look at her.

“You are not banned from my chambers, Jon,” she said. “But I do expect you to knock. And if you can teach your cousin the importance of knocking, that would be most appreciated.”

Robb pouted, but Jon’s face lightened a bit. “I will,” he said. “Thank you, Lady St. . . Thank you, Aunt Catelyn.”

Then both boys ran out, and Catelyn looked at him. “I love you,” she said simply.

“I could ask for no greater gift,” he replied. Then he grinned at her. “So, shall I leave you, my lady, lest everyone think we sleep too much?”

She laughed, and he pulled her to him. He knew there were difficulties ahead of them. He knew that the addition of both Jon and Theon to the household could not possibly take place without any problems at all. He knew that whispers about Ashara Dayne, about Jon, about his imprisonment after the Rebellion would never completely fade away, and that Cat would continue to be hurt by them. He knew that Robert was as volatile as his House Words, ‘Ours is the Fury,’ and that he would have to be ever watchful that the man did not begin to see Jon as a threat once more. He knew that someday Jon would be old enough to have questions that he had not yet decided how to answer.

Yet, right now, Ned Stark was home. His children were well, and he held his beautiful wife in his arms. He looked toward the future with more hope than fear, and his most fervent immediate hope was that his youngest child would keep sleeping for quite a bit longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is how it feels to actually have completed a multi-chapter fic!! I would like to thank the lovely SecondStarOnTheLeft for hosting the Big Bang Project which made me actually complete something by a certain date!
> 
> I hope you have enjoyed this story. I truly love writing, and the comments that people leave on my work are appreciated more than I will ever be able to express.
> 
> Thank you.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I've never posted a multi-chapter fic all at once before. If anything in any particular chapter strikes you as particularly good (or particularly problematic), please feel free to comment on it!
> 
> Yes, this is a shameless plea for comments on chapters because without them, I never know if what I've written is decent or not. XD
> 
> Also, I am never opposed to having my typos/spelling errors/grammatical errors pointed out. I hate them, but I tend to write very fast, so I do make them, and if you point them out, I will simply thank you and correct them. :)


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